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LADY  MORGAN 


129SS0R  COLLIDE  UBRAB 

cassniur  hill,  massJ 

, NEW  YORK:  t 

Si  D.  & J.  SADLIER  & CO..  ft 

\ 31  BARCLAY  STREET.  ,f 


r;  4^** 
C?*7J  £ 


[^'ILLIAJA' 


RQSUNOM-t, 

FLORENCE  MACARTHY 


A NATIONAL  TALE. 


BY 

LADY  MORGAN/'' 

Autiior  of  “ O Donnell,”  “ Tin-:  Wild  Irish  Girl,” 
«&c.,  &c. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.  & J.  SADLIER  & CO.,  31  BARCLAY  STREET, 

BOSTON  '.—128  FEDERAL  STREET. 

MONTREAL  J — COB.  NOTRH  PAMK  AND  £T.  FRANCIS  XAVIER  STS. 

1865. 


BOSTON  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS, 


PR 

50  o'? 
, A/3 

33" 

/ 


84929 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Whom  when  I asked,  from  what  place  he  came, 

And  how  he  hight  himself,  he  did  y-cleep 
The  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean,  by  name, 

And  said  he  came  far  from  the  main  sea  deep. 

Colin  ClouVs  come  home  again. — Spenser. 

Early  in  the  nineteenth  century,  in  an  autumnal 
month,  a corvette  (a  light-built  Spanish  vessel)  passed 
the  Bar  of  Dublin,  and,  with  all  her  canvas  crowded, 
rode  gallantly  into  the  bay,  after  having  weathered, 
for  a period  of  five  days,  one  of  those  tremendous  gales 
which  occasionally  agitate  the  Irish  seas.  A southern 
port  of  Ireland  had  been  her  original  destination. 
Stress  of  weather  had  driven  her  up  the  Channel; 
and  the  injury  she  had  received  in  her  unequal  con- 
test with  the  elements,  rendered  it  necessary  that  she 
should  undergo  repair  before  she  proceeded  on  her 
coasting  voyage.  On  her  stern  she  bore  the  name 
of  u II  Librador  and,  though  now  unarmed,  and 
the  property  of  a private  individual,  she  had  evidently 
been  a sloop  of  war  in  some  foreign  service. 

* The  Liberator. 


6 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


The  dawn  was  breaking  in  tints  of  gold  and  crim- 
son as  the  corvette  cut  her  way  through  the  bright- 
ening waves ; and  the  happiest  aspect  of  the  Irish 
coast  presented  itself  to  the  view  of  two  persons  who 
stood  in  silence  at  the  helm ; — who  had  stood  there 
since  the  first  pale  flush  of  light  had  thrown  its 
silvery  line  along  the  eastern  horizon. 

The  elder  of  the  two  was  the  master  of  the  vessel, 
lie  was  still  in  the  very  prime  of  life  and  flower  of 
manhood;  and  as  each  lovely  feature  of  the  Irish 
shore  gradually  developed  itself,  and  arose  bright  and 
fresh  from  the  mists  of  the  morning  upon  his  eager 
gaze,  he  presented,  in  his  own  person,  an  image  that 
denoted  the  intention  of  the  Creator,  when  he  made 
man  supreme  above  all,  to  reign  over  His  fair  creation. 

He  stood  erect,  his  arms  so  folded  as  to  give  to  his 
square  chest  and  shoulders  a peculiar  muscularity  and 
breadth  of  outline.  His  fine  bust,  indicating  extraor- 
dinary strength,  would  have  been  almost  dispropor- 
tioned  to  his  stature,  which  rose  not  much  above  the 
middle  height,  but  that  the  loftiness  of  his  air,  and  the 
freedom  of  his  carriage,  conferred  an  artificial  eleva- 
tion on  his  figure,  and  corrected  what  might  be 
deemed  imperfect  in  his  actual  structure.  His  large 
eyes  were  rather  deep  set  than  protuberant;  and 
their  glances,  rather  sidelong  than  direct,  flashed 
from  beneath  his  dark  impending  brows,  like  the 
lightnings  which  fringe  the  massive  vapors  of  a 
tropical  atmosphere.  His  mouth  had  a physiognomy 
of  its  own — it  was  what  the  eye  is  to  other  laces — 
and  the  workings  of  the  nether  lip,  in  moments  of 
emotion,  indicated  the  influence  of  vehement  pas- 
sions, habitually  combated,  though  rarely  subdued. 


FLORENCE  MACARTTIY. 


7 


The  expression  of  his  countenance  was  more  intel- 
lectual than  gracious ; and  was  calculated  to  strike 
rather  than  to  please.  But  his  rare  and  singular 
smile  (a  smile  so  bland,  it  might  well  have  become 
even  a woman’s  lip)  wholly  changed  its  character; 
and  the  full-displayed  teeth,  of  splendid  whiteness, 
produced  perhaps  even  too  strong  a contrast  with  a 
complexion,  which  southern  suns,  and  climes  of 
scorching  ardor,  had  bronzed  into  a dark,  deep,  but 
transparent  olive.  No  tint,  no  hue  warmed  or  varied 
this  gloomy  paleness,  save  when  the  tide  of  passion, 
rushing  impetuously  from  the  heart,  colored  for  a 
moment,  with  a burning  crimson,  the  livid  cheek ; 
and  then,  as  promptly  ebbing  back  to  its  source,  left 
all  cold  and  dark  as  before. 

F rom  his  accent  or  manner,  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  assign  him  to  any  particular  country.  He 
seemed  rather  to  belong  to  the  world ; — one  of  those 
creatures  formed  out  of  the  common  mould,  whom 
nature  and  circumstances  combine  to  lit  for  deeds  of 
general  import  and  universal  interest.  Neither  could 
the  term  “ gentility”  be  appropriately  applied  to  an 
appearance  which  had  a character  beyond  it.  He 
might  have  been  above  or  below  heraldic  notices,  and 
genealogical  distinctions ; but  he  was  evidently  inde- 
pendent of  them.  His  mate,  an  old  but  hale  man, 
with  whom  he  conversed  in  Spanish  (but  who  had 
English  enough  to  work  the  ship,  and  sufficient  know- 
ledge of  the  Irish  seas  to  steer  it  with  skill,)  respect- 
fully addressed  him  by  the  title  of  “ the  Commodore 
and  the  crew  (a  few  English  sailors,  to  whom  he 
seemed,  even  by  name,  a stranger)  adopted  the  same 
appellation.  But  he  issued  Ids  clear,  prompt  orders, 


8 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


with  the  air  and  decision  of  one  to  whom  higher  titles 
of  command  were  familiar,  lie  was  a good  sailor, 
fearless  in  danger,  calm  and  sell-possessed  in  diffi- 
culty ; and,  to  the  only  passenger  who  accompanied 
him  (one  courteously  and  accidentally  admitted  on 
board  his  ship),  he  spoke  of  himself  as  a man  fond  of 
the  sea  from  boyhood,  making  voyages  of  pleasure 
when  he  could,  and  now  uniting  an  old  habit  of  re- 
creation with  the  urgency  of  pressing  business.  He 
was  on  his  way  from  a West  India  island,  on  a secret 
mission,  of  importance  to  himself;  but  he  neither 
mentioned  his  own  name,  nor  inquired  that  of  the 
young  passenger,  whom  he  had  taken  out  of  a wherry 
in  Plymouth  Sound, — the  port  whence  he  had  last 
sailed,  and  where  the  stranger  had  vainly  sought  the 
passage  now  granted  him  to  Ireland,  by  the  com- 
mander of  II  Librador. 

The  appearance  of  this  person,  who  ha  1 voluntarily 
announced  himself  by  the  name  of  De  Vere,  though 
infinitely  interesting,  was  perhaps  less  striking  than 
that  of  the  Commodore.  It  was  also  of  a more  defi- 
nite stamp  and  character;  more  assignable  to  a class, 
a cast,  a country.  Though  there  was  little  of  con- 
ventional mannerism  about  him, — though  his  elegant 
and  thorough-bred  air  was  wffiolly  unmarked  by  the 
overcharged  fashioning  of  any  country, — yet,  to  those 
acquainted  with  the  first  class  of  British  distinction, 
he  was  easily  cognizable  in  accent,  dress,  air,  and 
physiognomy,  as  an  Englishman  of  rank  and  fashion, 
the  liomnu  comme  il  faut  of  the  highest  circles. 

There  was,  however,  in  the  countenance  and  modes 
of  this  distinguished  young  stranger,  something  more 
than  the  mere  characteristics  of  country  and  rank — 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


9 


a sort  of  fantastic  pensiveness,  a real  or  affected  ab- 
straction, a something  imaginative  and  ideal  in  his 
maniere  d'etre , that  indicated  a great  eccentricity,  if 
not  peculiarity  of  mind.  He  seemed  a compound  of 
fancy  and  fashion ; a medium  between  the  conscious- 
ness of  rank,  and  the  assumption  and  possession  of 
genius,  placing  him  out  of  the  common  muster-roll  of 
society : — a being  vain  of  standing  aloof ; untractable 
to  the  world’s  laws,  and  therefore  believing  himself 
beyond  them.  In  his  conversations  with  the  Com- 
modore, he  spoke  in  parodox,  had  systems  out  of  the 
common  scale,  and  theories  of  alembicated  refine- 
ment. An  idealist,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word, 
in  his  philosophy  he  talked  as  one  who  believed  that 
“ nothing  is,  but  thinking  makes  it  so :”  and  occupied 
by  an  “ ideal  presence,”  he  affected  to  live  distinct 
and  independent  of  all  human  interests. 

The  structure  of  his  fine  head  was  such  as  physiog- 
nomists assign  to  superior  intellect ; and  the  precise 
arrangement  of  its  glossy  auburn  curls  left  it  difficult 
to  decide  whether  its  fanciful  and  fashionable  posses- 
sor was  more  fop  or  philosopher,  dandy  or  poet.  His 
valet-de-chambre,  a Frenchman,  presided  with  in- 
variable punctuality  at  his  toilette,  twice  a day,  when 
the  uncivil  elements  did-  not  interfere  with  such  ar- 
rangements; and  the  rest  of  his  time  was  spent  in 
musing,  reading  Spenser’s  “Faery  Queen,”  and  “ State 
of  Ireland,”  and  occasionally  conversing  with  the 
commander  of  the  vessel,  who  seemed  to  inspire  him 
with  sentiments  of  curiosity  and  admiration,  not  usual 
to  his  ordinary  habits  of  feeling.  Mr.  De  Yere,  after 
a long  silence,  usually  preserved,  addressed  his  com- 
panion, by  observing : 


10 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


* There  is  to  me  a singular  attraction  in  the  aspect 
of  an  unknown  firmament ; for  it  tells  of  distance  from 
scenes,  and  objects  long  marked  by  sameness,  and 
distinguished  only  by  satiety.” 

“ It  tells,  too,”  replied  the  Commodore,  “ of  remote- 
ness from  objects,  precious  by  interest  or  habit.  The 

* Cross  of  the  south,’  first  seen  in  tropical  climates, 
draws  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  Spanish  seaman ; its 
image  recalling  remembrances  of  his  distant  country.” 

“ Remembrances  of  country,  however,  are  usually 
the  finger-posts  to  ennui.  One  wears  out  everything 
in  one’s  own  country,  before  one  leaves  it;  and,  there- 
fore, it  is  left.  Country  ! all  countries  are  alike : little 
masses  of  earth  and  water ; where  some  swarms  of 
human  ants  are  destined  to  creep  through  their  span 
of  ephemeral  existence : coming,  they  know  not 
whence;  going  they  know  not  where.” 

“ These  little  masses  of  earth  and  water,”  said  the  * 
Commodore,  “ are  therefore  precious  and  important 
to  the  ants  that  creep  on  them;  and  each  little  hill  is 
dear  to  the  swarm  that  inhabits  it,  as  much  from  that 
very  ignorance  as  from  interest.” 

After  a short  pause,  Mr.  De  Yere  resumed: 

“ Can  you  not  credit  then  the  existence  of  a creature 
placed  by  nature  or  circumstances  beyond  the  ordi- 
nary pale  of  humanity,  shaking  off  1 his  poor  estate 
of  man,’  scarcely  looking  upon  that  spot,  called  earth, 
with  human  eyes,  nor  herding  with  his  species  in 

* human  sympathy — one  so  organized,  so  worked  on  by 
events,  so  thwarted  in  feelings,  and  blasted  in  his  bud 
of  life,  as  to  stand  alone  in  creation,  matchless,  or  at 
least  unmatched — one,  whose  joys,  whose  woes,  whose 
sentiments,  whose  passions,  are  not  those  of  other 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


11 


men,  but  all  his  own ; beyond  the  reach  of  affection, 
or  the  delusions  of  hope  ?” 

“ A being,  thus  constituted,”  rejoined  the  Commo- 
dore, “ could  not  be  man.  lie,  who  wants  the  appe- 
tites and  passions  common  to  all  men,  with  the  sym- 
pathies and  affections  that  spring  from  them,  is  some- 
thing better  or  worse,  angel  or  demon,  but  he  is  not 
man.” 

“You  deny  then  the  possibility  of  such  an  exist- 
ence ?” 

“ Nay — madmen  may  fancy  such  a combination, 
poets  feign  it,  or  vain  men  affect  it ; but  it  has  no  real 
existence  in  nature  or  society.  Man  is  always  man; 
and  he  who  pretends  to  be  more,  is  rarely  placed  by 
nature  at  the  head  of  his  species — he  is  in  fact  usually 
less.” 

Before  Mr.  De  Yere  could  reply,  a question  from  a 
sailor  interrupted  the  conversation,  which  was  one  of 
many  held  in  the  same  tone  and  spirit.  The  Commo- 
dore was  the  next  moment  busied  in  giving  orders  for 
tacking.  lie  addressed  his  mate  in  pure  Spanish, 
chided  the  French  valet  out  of  his  way  in  good 
French,  and  fell  foul  of  a lubberly  sailor  in  broad  nau- 
tical English. 

“There  is  somewhere,”  said  Mr.  De  Yere,  turning 
over  the  pages  of  Spenser’s  Ireland,  and  resuming  his 
conversation  with  the  commander  of  the  vessel,  as  he 
returned  to  his  station  at  the  helm — “ there  is  some- 
where, through  the  quaint  pages  of  Spenser,  an  ad- 
mirable description  of  the  natural  advantages  of  Ire- 
land, which  I cannot  find.” 

“Look  around  you,”  answered  the  Commodore: 
“ you  will  find  them  here.” 


12 


FLORENCE  MACAUTHY. 


“ I prefer  looking  through  the  spectacles  of  books. 
I like  the  prismatic  hues  thrown  by  authorship  upon 
places  and  facts.” 

“ Indeed  ! that  is  strange ! But  in  viewing  Ireland 
through  Spenser’s  pages,  you  will  see  it,  as  children 
do  an  eclipse  through  a smoked  glass.  He  was  one 
of  those,  whose  policy  it  was  to  revile  the  country  lie 
preyed  upon, — to  spoil,  and  then  to  vituperate.  No 
Englishman  can  fairly  estimate  this  island  who  cornea 
not  unshackled  by  his  own  interests.  Spenser,  the 
deputy  of  a deputy,  the  secretary,  whose  servile  flat- 
tery of  the  viceroy,  his  master,  was  rewarded  with  a 
principality  (soon  lost  indeed,  but  most  unfairly  won), 
is  no  author  for  impartiality  to  judge  by;  and  when 
he  stoops  to  eulogize  the  ‘dreadless  might’  of  his 
ferocious  patron,  Grey,  one  of  Ireland’s  Herods — 
when  he  defines  power  to  be 

1 The  right  hand  of  Justice  truly  hight,’ 

however  he  may  please  as  a poet,  he  is  contemptible 
as  an  historian,  and  infamous  as  a politician.” 

“ Oh ! as  an  historian  or  politician  I give  him  up, 
because  both  characters  are  equally  ridiculous : the 
politician  always  guided  by  prejudice  and  interest, 
the  historian  always  immersed  in  ignorance  and  error. 
Time  discovers  and  shames  both : and  thus  it  is  with  all 
that  bears  upon  human  facts.  The  imagination  alone 
is  always  right ; its  visions  are  alone  imperishable. 
The  Faery  Queen  of  Spenser  will  thus  survive,  when 
his  State  of  Ireland  shall  be  wholly  forgotten  : and, 
for  my  own  part,  so  much  do  I prefer  the  visions  of 
his  fancy  to  the  historical  relations  of  any  period  con- 
nected with  the  history  of  men,  that  I would  go  a 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


13 


thousand  miles  to  visit  the  ruins  of  his  Irish  Kilcole - 
man  * where  once 

1 He  sat,  as  was  his  trade, 

Under  the  foot  of  Mole,  that  mountain  hoar/ 

where 


* Allured  by  his  pipe's  delight, 

Whose  pleasing  soundly-shrilled  far  about, 

the  gallant  Raleigh  found  him.  But  I am  not  sure 
that  I would  turn  one  point  out  of  my  way  to  tread 
upon  the  sj)ot  where  legitimate  despotism  signed  the 
fiat  of  its  own  destruction,  and  gave  Magna  Charta 
to  an  emancipated  nation.” 

The  vessel  at  that  moment  touched  the  pier. 

The  Commodore  had  sprung  upon  land  ; and  he 
stood  for  a moment  on  the  spot  that  had  received  the 
first  pressure  of  his  footstep.  To  judge  by  the  dark- 
ling of  his  eye,  and  the  motion  of  his  lip,  some  strong 
and  powerful  feeling  occupied  his  mind ; but  it  was 
of  brief  duration.  Emotions  unconnected  with  ac- 
tion seemed  not  made  for  him : by  the  tossing  back 
of  his  head  he  appeared  to  give  thought  to  the 
winds,  and  plunged  into  all  the  bustle  and  activity  of 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed. 

The  Holyhead  packet  was  not  yet  visible ; and  the 

* Originally  the  principality  of  the  Macarthies  More ; aftei> 
wards  the  Palatinate  of  the  Fitzgeralds,  Earls  of  Desmond  ; 
forfeited  by  them  and  given  to  new  spoliators,  among  whom 
was  the  thriftless  adventurer  Raleigh,  who  in  Ireland  acted 
the  part  of  a freebooter.  The  spoils  which  fell  to  the  poet 
Spenser,  as  secretary  to  Lord  Arthur  Grey  (the  “ Sir  Artigall  ” 
of  his  dreary  legend  of  that  name),  were  three  thousand  acres 
of  rich  land  in  the  county  of  Cork,  with  the  beautiful  Castle 
of  Kilcoleman,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Desmond. 


14 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


earliness  of  the  hour  still  left  the  pier  in  quietude. 

The  land-waiter  had  been  called  to  go  through  tho 
necessary  forms ; and  of  him  the  Commodore  asked 
some  questions,  with  eager  curiosity,  clearness,  and 
rapidity  of  utterance,  as  if  life  were  too  short  to 
suffer  one  moment  to  pass  by  unoccupied  or  unin- 
structed  ; then,  as  if  impatient  of  the  drawling  replies, 
and  anticipating  the  answers,  he  started  new  inqui- 
ries of  local  reference.  Meantime  Mr.  De  Yere  had 
landed ; but  wholly  abstracted  from  the  noise  and 
activity  that  surrounded  him,  he  stood,  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  his  Spenser,  while  the  valet  was  receiv- 
ing parcels,  portmanteaux,  and  portfolios  from  a 
sailor,  who  was  flinging  them  on  shore,  and  exclaim- 
ing, as  he  appropriated,  or  rejected  each  several 
article,  “ C'es:  a nous”  — “ Ce  n'est  pas  a nous” 
With  the  exception  of  “got  dam,”  the  Frenchman 
had  not  yet  acquired  a single  word  of  English.  But 
with  this  small  portion  of  the  language,  and  his  own 
very  expressive  gesticulations,  he  had  succeeded  so 
well,  as  almost  to  think  with  Figaro,  that  this  em- 
phatic imprecation  was  the  basis  of  the  tongue ; and 
that  with  it  “ on  ne  manque  de  ricn , nulle  part” 

“ Will  I step  in  for  a jingle  for  your  honor  ?”  de- 
manded a voice,  in  the  broad  languid  drawling  of  the 
genuine  patois  of  Dublin,  addressing  the  full  force  of 
its  brogue  to  the  delicate  ears  of  Mr.  De  Yere. 

“ Will  I,  plaze  your  honor,  sir  ?” 

This  question,  several  times  repeated,  at  last  ob- 
tained notice  by  its  reiteration.  The  young  stranger  ' 
raised  his  eyes  for  a moment  to  the  face  of  him  who 
thus  unceremoniously  proffered  his  services,  but  he 
withdrew  them  again  in  disgust.  The  object  of  this 


i 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


15 


ungracious  glance  had  stood  its  inquiry  with  great 
coolness.  He  was  leaning,  and  had  been  leaning, 
since  the  dawn,  against  one  of  the  posts  of  the  pier, 
and  had  watched  the  approach  of  It  Librudor  idly 
and  patiently,  for  more  than  an  hour,  partly  for  the 
gratification  of  his  curiosity,  and  partly  in  the  hope 
of  earning  some  trifle  by  going  for  a vehicle,  or  by 
carrying  into  the  town  some  luggage  for  the  passen- 
gers. There  is  scarcely  any  place  so  lonely,  or  hour 
so  unseasonable,  at  which  some  one  of  these  genuine 
lazzaroni  of  the  Irish  metropolis  may  not  be  found 
lounging  away  time,  between  hope  and  idleness,  in 
the  enjoyment  of  doing  nothing,  or  in  the  vague  ex- 
pectation of  having  something  to  do. 

Miserably  clad,  squalid,  meagre,  and  famished,  the 
petitioner  for  employment  had  yet  humor  in  his  eye, 
and  observation  in  his  countenance.  Occasionally 
ready  to  assist,  and  always  prompt  to  flatter,  he  did 
neither  gratuitously.  Taunt  and  invective  seemed  the 
natural  expression  of  his  habit : for  though  dcbasingly 
acquiescent  to  a destiny  which  left  him  without  mo- 
tive for  industry,  in  a country  where  industry  is  no 
refuge  from  distress,  he  yet  preserved  the  vindictive- 
ness of  conscious  degradation ; and  there  was  a deep- 
seated  sincerity  in  his  freqrent  curse,  which  was  some- 
times wanting  to  his  purchased  benediction.  Idleness 
had  become  the  custom  of  his  necessity ; and  his  wants 
were  so  few,  that  a trifling  exertion  could  supply 
them.  Yet  he  sought  early  and  late  for  employment; 
and  he  had  probably  wants  more  urgent  than  his  own 
to  satisfy. 

This  unfortunate  representative  of  his  class  had  hi- 
therto lolled  on  the  pier,  a listless  spectator  of  the 


16 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


scene  which  was  going  forward,  muttering  at  intervals 
a shrewd  observation,  laughing  deridingly  as  he  threw 
his  eyes  over  the  French  valet,  whose  foreign  air  and 
dress  were  peculiarly  notable ; and  again  composing 
his  sharp  features  into  a look  of  respectful  deference, 
as  he  reiterated  his  question  to  him  whom  he  sup- 
posed the  master.  “ Will  I step  in  for  a jingle,  your 
honor  ? will  I,  sir  ?”  “ Step  in !”  at  last  repeated  Mr. 

De  Yere,  struck,  perhaps,  by  the  calm,  steady  perse- 
verance of  his  intrusion — “ step  in  where,  friend  ?” 
“Step  into  Dublin,  plaze  your  honor,  for  a jingle,  sir, 
or  a hackney !” 

“ Is  Dublin  so  near,  then?” 

“ It  is,  plaze  your  honor,  hard  by,  sir,  quite  conva- 
nient : yez  won’t  miss  me,  your  honor,  till  I’m  back 
wid  ye.” 

“If  Dublin  is  so  near,”  said  Mr.  De  Yere,  closing 
his  book,  and  addressing  the  Commodore,  who  now, 
with  his  rapid  step,  approached  him,  after  having  given 
his  orders  to  his  mate  and  men — “ if  Dublin  is  so  near, 
I should  prefer  walking,  to  trusting  to  any  filthy  ve- 
hicle we  may  be  able  to  procure  at  this  unseasonable 
hour.” 

“ I meant  to  propose  it,”  was  the  reply ; and  the 
active,  animated  speaker,  taking  a rich  pelisse  from 
his  mate,  which  he  drew  over  his  ship  dress,  and  ex- 
changing his  cap  for  a round  hat,  gave  some  addi- 
tional orders  in  Spanish,  and  desired  the  sailor,  who 
stood  beside  him  with  a large  valise  on  his  shoulder 
and  writing-case  in  his  hand,  to  follow  him  to  Dublin. 
The  two  gentlemen  then  proceeded,  arm-in-arm,  to 
town,  furnished  by  the  officers  of  the  customs  with  a 
card  of  one  of  the  many  hotels  in  the  patrician  streets 


FLORENCE  MCCARTHY. 


17 


of  Dublin,  the  former  mansions  of  the  banished  no- 
bility. 

Mr.  De  Yere,  to  whom  the  vulgar  exertions  of 
every-day  life  were  all  unknown,  and  even  unguessed 
at,  had  left  everything  to  a valet  as  helpless  as  him- 
self. For  the  first  time  since  he  had  come  into  his 
master’s  service,  he  was  deprived  of  the  assistance  of 
a certain  Portuguese  lackey,  one  who  spoke  all  lan- 
guages, performed  all  services,  and  united  all  the  in- 
trigue, roguery,  and  ingenuity  of  the  Pedrillos  and 
Lazarillos  of  the  Spanish  comedy.  This  man  had  been 
dismissed  for  malpractices  at  the  moment  his  master 
was  leaving  the  port  of  Lisbon  for  that  of  Plymouth ; 
and  since  that  period  the  Frenchman  had  acted  with- 
out deputy  or  interpreter.  But  as  almost  the  whole 
of  the  interval  had  been  passed  at  sea  (for  his  master 
had  remained  a few  hours  only  at  Plymouth),  he  had 
but  slightly  felt  the  inconvenience.  Now,  however, 
left  to  act,  not  only  for  his  master  but  for  himself,  he 
remained  standing  on  the  pier,  in  all  the  embarrass- 
ment of  books,  parcels,  and  the  splendid  neccssaire  of 
the  portable  toilette.  He  had  alternately  taken  up 
and  laid  down  a valise,  a dressing-box,  and  a pocket 
edition  of  Zamora’s  Spanish  Plays;  accompanying 
each  movement  with  a “ sacre ,”  u diantre”  or  “ jieste 
de  mon  ame ,”  slowly  rolled  forth  from  between  his 
closed  teeth  ; when  the  English  sailor,  jerking  his  own 
load  on  his  shoulders,  exclaimed,  “ Come,  come, 
mounseer,  know  your  own  mind ; either  wait  till  we 
sends  a coach  for  you  and  your  trumpery,  or  get  some 
un  to  help  you.” 

“ Shure  I’ll  carry  in  them  portmantles  to  town  for 
you,  mounseer,  and  the  leather  box  to  boot,  for  a 


18 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


trifle,”  observed  the  Irishman,  who,  disappointed  in 
the  commission  he  had  sought,  had  remained  motion- 
less and  silent  till  the  hope  of  his  services  being  again 
accepted  suggested  itself;  and  he  repeated  his  pro- 
posal three  several  times,  each  louder  than  the  other, 
as  if  the  louder  he  vociferated,  the  better  chance  he 
had  of  being  understood  by  the  foreigner. 

“ Do  you  hear  me  now,  mounseer  ?”  he  screamed 
close  in  the  Frenchman’s  ear,  who,  stamping  his  feet 
with  anger,  exclaimed,  “ Paix  ! paix  /” 

“ Pay,  pay,”  reiterated  the  Irishman : “ I’ll  engage 
you  will,  dear,  and  well.”  Then,  without  further  ce- 
remony, hoisting  the  valise  on  his  shoulders,  taking  a 
portfolio  under  his  arm,  and  carrying  the  dressing- 
box  by  its  handle,  he  nodded  his  head  to  the  parcel 
of  books,  which  were  enclosed  in  a leather  strap,  ob- 
serving, “ Now,  mounseer,  I’ll  throuble  you  just  to 
take  them  bits  of  books  in  your  daddle ; and  what 
would  ail  us,  but  we’d  take  in  th’  other  trifles  of 
things  betwixt  us  aisy  enough,  plaze  God;  I’ll  engage 
we  will.  So  now,  my  lad,”  (addressing  the  sailor,) 
“ follow  me,  and  I’ll  show  you  the  road.” 

The  Frenchman  comprehended  the  arrangements 
of  the  Irishman  better  than  his  language,  grinned  ap- 
plause, muttered  a good-humored  “go*  dam”  in  token 
of  approbation,  and,  taking  up  the  books,  these  three 
singular  representatives  of  the  three  nations  pro- 
ceeded towards  Dublin,  following  close  on  the  steps 
of  the  gentlemen  who  had  inquired  their  route  and 
were  some  paces  in  advance. 

The  Irish  lounger,  no  lounger  now,  stepped  on 
lightly  with  his  burden,  in  that  short  quick  trot  with 
which  the  lower  Irish  perform  long  journeys,  and 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY.  19 

frequently  addressing  his  companions  with  a sort  of 
sly,  indirect  curiosity. 

“ I’ll  engage,  mounseer,”  he  observed,  first  attack- 
ing the  Frenchman,  “yez  was  never  in  ould  Ireland 
afore,  far  as  you’ve  travelled ; and  yez 

1 May  travel  the  wide  world  over, 

And  sail  from  France  to  Balm-robe.’ 

as  the  song  says,  afore  ye’ll  see  the  likes  of  it  again, 
anyway.” 

“ Bon , bon,"  returned  the  Frenchman,  supposing 
that  he  communicated  the  joyful  intelligence  of  their 
speedy  arrival.  li  Bon,  fen  suis  charmi 

“ Why  then  it  will  charmy  ye  more  every  step  ye 
take — for  there  isn’t  her  match,  by  say  or  land,  with 
her  beautiful  eye  there,  like  a unicorn’s,  in  the  front 
of  her  forehead,*  and  her  Hill  of  Ilowth  like  a mole 
on  her  cheek ; and  see  there  forenent  yez,  aerass  the 
bay,  there,  there’s  the  sheds  of  Clontarf,  and  the 
green  groves  of  Marino,  the  great  Earl  of  Charle- 
mont’s  sate,  and  ould  Ballvbough,  the  creatur ! to  the 
fore  this  day,  as  when  Bryan  Borugh  lost  his  crown, 
and  his  harp  on  it  (the  sowl),  in  the  Musaum  of 
Trinity.”! 

“ Comment  done ?”  demanded  the  Frenchman,  de- 
noting his  ignorance  of  this  detailed  description  by 
the  perplexity  of  his  looks.  “ Och  bother,”  returned 
the  Irishman,  out  of  all  patience  at  what  appeared  to 
him  obstinate  stupidity. 

* Ireland’s  Eye — a rock  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay. 

t A harp  is  shown  in  the  Museum  of  Trinity  College,  said  to 
have  belonged  to  the  Irish  monarch  : it  was  found  on  the 
plains  of  Clontarf,  where  he  fought  his  last  famous  battle  against 

the  Danes,  and  lost  his  life. 


20 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ Bodere,  bodere,”  reiterated  the  Frenchman,  indig- 
nant at  what  lie  saw  was  intended  for  insult.”  “ Com- 
ment done  1 bode  re'!  gueux  que  tu  es  ?” 

“ Cut  away  yourself,”  replied  the  Irishman,  laugh- 
ling  good  humoredly,  or  troth,  you’ll  be  in  too  late 
for  the  fair,  honey !” 

The  Frenchman,  supposing  that  these  words,  and 
the  conciliating  laugh  which  accompanied  them,  indi- 
cated an  apology,  took  off  his  hat  with  great  polite- 
ness, and  accepted  the  fancied  excuses*,  with  “mats 
voila)  mon  ami , qui  est  Hen? 

“ Och,  your  humble  servant  to  command,  mo  un- 
seer,” returned  the  Irishman  dropping  his  load  to  make 
an  imitative  bow  : “ troth  you  do  your  dancing-mas- 
ter every  justice,  whoever  he  was.” 

The  English  sailor,  much  amused  by  this  inter- 
change of  civility  in  his  two  companions,  observed, 
“ aye,  aye,  sir,  let  the  moun seers  alone  for  bowing  and 
scraping,  and  the  likes.  Never  a dancing  dog  at 
Bartlemy  fair  will  beat  them  at  that,  I’ll  warrant.” 
“Why  then  I’ll  engage,”  replied  the  Irishman, 
“ that  yellow,  swarthy,  portly  gentleman  there,  your 
captain,  wouldn’t  be  a Frenchman,  with  his  elegant 
surtout,  for  all  he  has  a Frenchified  air  about  him.” 

“ What,  he ; Lord  help  your  heart,  not  he — no 
more  a Frenchman  nor  I am,  lad.” 

“ Och ! he’d  be  very  sorry,  I’ll  engage ; though  he 
has  an  outlandish  look  with  him,  for  all  that.” 

“ Why,  aye  sure,  because  he  corned  from  the  Hin- 
dies,  d’ye  see;  the  West  Ilindies, — or  Spanish  Am- 
erica'. It’s  all  one  for  that ; come  from  where  he  will, 
he’s  a hearty  true  blue,  every  bit  of  him.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


21 


“ And  is  yourself  come  all  the  ways  with  him,  dear, 
from  the  Western  Indies?” 

“ Not  I.  I was  lying  in  dock;  for  it  is  not  now  all 
as  one  as  formerly — all  goes  by  luck  and  fashion  now. 
Somehow,  one  hears  no  more  of  the  Howes,  and  the 
Hothams,  and  the  Nelsons,  and  the  wooden  walls  of 
old  England.  The  jacket,  the  old  true  blue’s  worn 
out,  sir.  So  this  ere  gem’man,  who  owns  that  tight 
bit  of  timber,  every  splinter  of  her,  himself',  it  seems, 
put  into  our  Plymouth  Sound,  three  weeks  ago,  bound 
from  Demerara,  and  sent  back  his  Spanish  crew  in  a 
Cadiz  merchantman,  (excepting  old  Grim  Groudy,  the 
mate),  and  paid  ’em  like  a prince.  So  then  he  set 
sail  for  London,  aloft  on  the  mail;  and  when  he  came 
back,  he  manned  this  little  vessel  with  a handful  of 
us  Plymouth  boys,  and  we  heaved  anchor  six  days 
agone  for  Ireland ; and  this  I’ll  say  for  him,  a better 
commander  never  stepped  on  forecastle,  or  walked 
the  quarter-deck.” 

“ See  that  now,”  replied  the  Irishman,  quietly,  “ and 
hasn’t  he  a mild  look  with  him,  then,  for  all  that ; 
only  mighty  stern.  He  wouldn’t  be  a slave  driven 
from  the  Western  Indies,  sir,  I suppose?” 

“ What,  he ! not  he,  bless  the  heart  of  him ; no 
more  nor  I bees;  not  but  he’s  hard  enough  some- 
times, and  hates  a lubber  as  he  hates  poison;  but 
goes  our  halves  in  hard  work.” 

“ See  that,  now,  sir : och,  he  has  a fine  look  with 
him,  and  mighty  portly ; and  has  a great  name  upon 
him,  if  a body  knew  it,  I’ll  engage.” 

“ Can’t  tell  ye  that,  though,”  replied  the  sailor, 
“ because  why,  I don’t  know  it  myself.  They 
called’n  1 the  Don’  at  the  King’s  Arms  in  Plymouth — 


22 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  Spanish  don,  though  he  speaks  as  good  English 
as  the  best.  And  then,  when  one  asks  a question  of 
Grim  Groudy,  whs  knows  all  about  him,  he  only  an- 
swers one  in  his  d — d lingo.” 

“And  that  tail  slinder  young  man,  dear,  with  his 
head  in  the  clouds,  as  if  he’d  snuff  the  moon,  fairly— 
he’s  his  comrade,  I’ll  engage.” 

“ What,  yon  fair  weather,  fresh  water  bird  there, 
mounseer’s  master  ? — Oh,  I knows  nothing  of  he,  nor 
Commodore,  nor  mate  neither,  for  the  matter  o’  that ; 
he’s  a bird  of  passage,  lad,  a God  send,  d’y  see.  Why, 
just  as  we  had  given  Edystone  lighthouse  the  go-by, 
out  comes  old  Jack  Andrews’s  wherry,  the  Shark, 
rowing  at  the  race  of  ten  knots  an  hour ; and  when  it 
came  alongside  the  Librador,  yon  spark,  there,  stands 
bolt  upright,  and  begs  a passage  for  his  self  and  our 
mounseer  here,  to  Ireland,  palavering  about  no  packets 
plying  from  Plymouth  to  Dublin,  and  being  in  haste 
to  get  there.  So  the  Commodore  has  him  hauled  up, 
and  gives  him  the  state  cabin ; a cabin  fit  for  an  Eng- 
lish Admiral ; and  so  they’ve  gone  on  well  enough, 
yard  arm  and  yard  arm,  jawing  together,  fore  and  aft, 
first  in  one  lingo,  and  then  in  another ; and  what  with 
mounseer  there,  that  has  not  a word  of  English  to 
throw  to  a dog,  and  the  Spanish  mate,  who  has  bare 
sufficient  to  work  the  ship,  why  the  vessel’s  like  to 
the  town  of  Babylon.  But  wdiat’s  most  oddest,  is, 
that  for  all  mounseer  and  Grim  Groudy’s  gibberish- 
ing  it  so  with  their  own  masters,  shiver  me  if  they 
understand  one  another  a bit.  Ha  ! ha ! ha  !” 

“ Why,  then,”  returned  the  Irishman,  “ it’s  mighty 
odd,  and  very  remarkable ; for  if  foreigners  won’t  un- 
derstand one  another,  who  do  they  expect  will,  I 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


28 


wonder.  And  so  yez  are  all  going  to  put  up  in 
Dublin?  Why,  then,  yez  are  in  great  luck.” 

“ Luck  ! no  such  luck  neither ; but  needs  must  when 
the  old  one  drives.  Why,  sir,  we  have  been  pelted 
about  this  little  basin  of  dirty  water  these  five  days, 
and  last  night  were  fairly  driven  up  the  Channel, 
blown  to  shivers,  tattered  to  rags,  and  must  now  put 
into  dock  here,  till  all’s  made  right  and  tight ; and 
then,  we’re  under  orders  to  weigh  anchor  with  old 
Grim  Groudy,  and  sail  for  Dungarvan.” 

“ Troth,  then,  if  yez  will  take  a fool’s  advice,  yez 
will  stay  where  ye  are ; for  yez  may  go  farther  and 
fare  worse  than  stopping  in  Dublin;  only  maybe, 
your  business  doesn’t  lie  here,  sir.” 

“ Why,  for  business,  I don’t  believe  we  have  much 
business  here ; only  just  a voyage  of  pleasure.  Why 
that’s  all  the  go  now.  The  agreeablest  trip  I 
ever  made  was  with  a young  Irish  lord  to  the  Medi- 
terranean, just  for  sport  like ; round  the  world  for 
sport.” 

“ Why,  then,  it’s  purty  sport  that  gives  a man  the 
say-sickness.  But  its  ill  wind  blows  nobody  good ; 
and  only  for  it,  sorrow  bit  of  Ringsend  yez  had  seen 
this  day,  and  here  it  is.” 

The  two  gentlemen  in  advance  had  at  this  moment 
halted  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  most  wretched 
suburbs  that  ever  deformed  or  disgraced  the  metro- 
polis of  any  country;  and  the  Commodore,  whose 
quick  and  often  back-glancing  eye  had  long  since  dis- 
cerned the  reinforcement  obtained  to  the  party,  by 
the  addition  of  the  lounger  at  the  pier,  now  called, 
and  desired  him  to  lead  the  way.  “ I will,  plaze  your 
honor,”  he  replied,  trotting  briskly  on,  while  the 


24 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


wearied  Frenchman  “ toiled  after  him  in  vain;”  and 
even  the  sailor  made  an  exertion  to  keep  pace  with 
him.  “ 111  only  just  step  in,  sir,  by  your  leave,  to 
get  my  morning,  for  I hasn’t  broke  my  fast  yet,  sir.” 

“ Broke  his  fast !”  reiterated  the  Commodore,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  as  he  observed  his  newly  consti- 
tuted guide  “ step  in”  to  a little  shop,  whose  gaudy 
placard  of  “ licensed  to  sell  spirituous  liquors”  was 
further  illustrated  by  a range  of  glasses  on  the  coun- 
ter, filled  with  whiskey.  The  guide  tossed  one  off, 
observing  to  the  dirty,  lazy-looking  woman,  who 
stood  wiping  a jug  with  her  apron,  “ I’ll  pay  you 
when  I come  back,  Mrs.  Hurley,  dear.”  With  this 
assurance  from  her  wretched,  but  well  known  customer, 
Mrs.  Hurley  appeared  satisfied;  aware  from  expe- 
rience, that,  in  his  instance,  punctuality  was  guaran- 
teed by  self-interest. 

“ Break  his  fast  ?”  repeated  the  Commodore : “ what 
a mode  of  breaking  fast!” 

“As  good  as  any,”  replied  Mr.  DeVere:  “it  all 
comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  Habit  and  cir- 
cumstances determine  the  mode  and  means,  without 
our  consent  or  will ; and  gin,  or  glory, 

‘ Leads  but  to  the  grave.’  ” 

The  two  travellers  now  followed  their  guide  with 
difficulty  through  collected  heaps  of  mud  and  filth. 
The  very  air  they  breathed  was  infected  by  noxious 
vapors,  which  the  morning  sun  drew  up  from  piles 
of  putrid  matter.  The  houses,  between  which  they 
passed,  were  in  ruins;  the  sashless  windows  were 
stuffed  with  straw;  the  unhinged  doors  exposed  the 
dark  and  dirty  stairs,  leading  to  dens  still  more  dun 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


25 


and  foul.  Here,  if  “lonely  misery  retired  to  die,” 
living  wretchedness  could  scarcely  find  a shelter. 
Yet  many  an  haggard  face,  many  an  attenuated  form, 
marked  by  the  squalor  of  indigence,  and  by  the  harsh- 
ness of  vice,  evinced  that  even  here  was  a crowded, 
superabundant  population.  The  guide,  who,  as  he 
proceeded  through  this  wretched  suburb,  saluted 
several  among  those  whose  idle  curiosity  had  drawn 
them  from  their  holes,  betrayed  a courtesy  of  manner 
curiously  contrasted  with  his  own  appearance,  and 
with  that  of  the  persons  he  addressed.  Everybody 
was  “ Sir,”  or  “ Ma’am and  the  children  were  either 
“ Miss,”  or  “ Master,”  or  were  saluted  with  epithets 
of  endearment  and  familiarity. 

“Morrow,  Dennis,  dear,  how  is  it  with  you?” 
“ Morrow,  kindly,  Mrs.  Flanagan : I hope  I see  you 
well,  Ma’am.”  “ Oh,  you’re  up  with  the  day,  Mr. 
Geratty.  How’s  the  woman  that  owns  you  ?” 
“ Here’s  a fine  morning,  Miss  Costello,  God  bless  it : 
is  your  mother  bravely,  Miss  ?”  “ Eh ! then  Paddy, 

you  little  garlagh,  why  isn’t  it  after  the  cockles  ye  are 
the  day,  and  the  tide  on  the  turn  ?” 

While,  however,  he  seemed  occupied  with  “ an  un- 
wearied spirit  of  doing  courtesies,”  he  occasionally 
threw  his  shrewd,  but  sunken  eye,  over  the  persons 
he  was  conducting;  and  faithfully  translating  the  ex- 
pression of  the  Commodore’s  looks,  he  observed : 

“ Och ! it's  a poor  place,  sir,  sure  enough,  and  no 
poorer  room-keepers,  your  honor,  than  the  Rings* 
end’s,  God  help  ’em,  not  even  in  the  vaults,  sir.” 

“ The  vaults  ?” 

“ Och ! yes,  indeed,  the  vaults  under  the  fine  new 
streets,  sir,  that  isn’t  built,  where  there’s  nothing  to 


26 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


pay;  only  in  respect  of  being  mighty  damp.  Wait  a 
taste,  your  honor,  till  yez  get  an,  sir,  and  yez  ‘ill  see 
them  swarm  out  in  great  style,  the  craturs  !” 

“ And  sure  it  is  a most  beautiful  and  sweet  coun- 
try,” read  aloud  Mr.  De  Yere,  who  had  now  found 
out  the  passage  he  had  hitherto  vainly  sought  in  Spen- 
ser, and  was  treading  a clear  pathway  as  they  left  the 
miserable  outlets  of  Ringsend  and  Irishtown  behind 
them.  “ A most  beautiful  and  sweet  country  as  any 
under  heaven,  being  stored  throughout  with  many 
goodly  rivers,  with  all  sorts  of  fish,  most  abundantly 
sprinkled  with  many  very  sweet  islands,  and  goodly 
lakes,  like  little  inland  seas,  that  will  carry  even  shippes 
upon  their  waters,  adorned  with  goodly  woods,  even 
fit  for  building  houses  and  shippes,  so  commodiously, 
as  that  if  som£  princes  in  the  world  had  them,  they 
would  soon  hope  to  be  lords  of  all  the  seas,  and  ere 
long  of  all  the  world — also  full  of  very  good  ports 
and  havens,  opening  into  England,  as  inviting  us  to 
come  into  them,  to  see  what  excellent  commodities 
that  country  can  afford.  Besides,  the  soyle  itself, 
most  fertile,  fit  to  yield  all  kinds  of  fruit  that  shall  be 
committed  thereunto;  and  lastly,  the  heavens,  most 
mild,  though  somewhat  more  moist  than  the  parts 
towards  the  west.” 

“ So  much  for  the  Natural  State  of  Ireland,”  said 
the  Commodore,  as  the  peripatetic  student  closed  his 
book,  to  which  the  guide  had  given  a very  humorous 
attention.  So  much  for  the  natural  state.  Behold 
the  groupings  of  its  social,  its  political  condition.” 
As  he  spoke,  they  entered  one  of  those  long  laid-out 
streets,  whose  houses,  in  the  course  of  many  years, 
had  not  advanced  beyond  the  foundations.  From  the 


*^STON  GGLLE^l 
3HJCSTJNUT  HILI  kL 

FLORENCE  MACARTHY.  27 

vaults,  the  thick  smoke  of  burning  straw  or  rubbish 
was  emitted  through  holes,  perforated  in  the  pave- 
ment ; while  hordes  of  wretched  and  filthy  creatures 
crept  from  beneath  the  dark  roofs  of  their  earthly 
dwellings,  to  solicit  the  charity  of  those  who  passed 
above  them.  One  from  among  the  number,  who  had 
been  less  alert  in  picking  up  some  scattered  small 
change,  flung  among  them  by  the  gentlemen,  conti- 
nued to  run  beside  them,  begging  for  a “ halfpenny  to 
buy  bread.”  It  was  a little  shivering,  half-naked  girl, 
pretty  but  filthy  and  emaciated.  As  the  guide  came 
up  she  retreated,  and  a significant  glance  passed 
between  them,  which  drove  her  at  once  back  to  her 
den ; but  not  before  she  had  picked  up  a silver  six- 
pence flung  after  her. 

“ God  bless  your  honor,”  said  the  guide,  in  a tre- 
mulous voice ; “ that  is  a greater  charity  than  you  i 
think,  sir.” 

“ This  is  all  very  bad,”  said  Mr.  De  Vere,  “ dis- 
gustingly bad.  Short  of  actual  offensive  disgust, 
affecting  the  health  and  organs,  I have,  myselx,  no 
positive  objection  to  suburban  wretchedness.  There 
is  sometimes  a sort  of  poetical  misery  in  such  scenes, 
very  effective  to  contemplate  ; not  altogether  so 
coarse  and  squalid  as  Crabbe’s  Borough  Scenery,  but 
a species  of  picturesque  wretchedness,  that  has  its 
merit — rags  well  draped,  misery  well  chiselled,  afford- 
ing a study  for  the  painter’s  pencil,  or  a model  to  the 
poet’s  eye.” 

“ But  who,”  asked  the  Commodore  with  emphasis, 

“ can  see  such  wretchedness  as  this,  with  a man’s  eye, 
and  not  feel  it  with  a man’s  heart  ? The  mind  starts 
beyond  the  mere  impulse  of  sympathy  here ; it  rushes 


28 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


at  once  from  the  effect  to  the  cause.  Indignation 
usurps  the  seat  of  pity,  and  the  spirit  rests  upon  those 
who  have  afflicted,  not  on  those  who  suffer.” 

“ Yes,  but  even  so,  you  go  but  half-way.  All  is 
evil  in  political  institutes  ; because  all  is  bad  in  moral, 
as  all  is  disgusting  in  physical  nature.  All  realities 
are  evil,  and  the  whole  system,  as  we  know  it,  but  a 
fortuitous  combination  of  corrupting  particles : the 
brightest  specks,  the  most  lucent  points,  are  but  the 
shining  glitter  of  putresceney,  and  even 

‘ The  brave  o’erkanging  firmament. 

The  majestic  roof,  fretted  with  golden  fires, 

A foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapors.’  ” 

“ This  is  Merrion  Square,  plaze  your  honor,”  inter- 
rupted the  guide,  coming  forward,  “ where  the  quality 
lives.  And  there’s  Sir  John’s*  fountain,  your  honor, 
so  beautiful ! and  cost  a power ! and  wouldn’t  get 
lave  to  build  a taste  of  it,  only  he  declared  to  God, 
and  upon  his  honor,  he  never  would  allow  a thimble- 
ful of  water  to  come  out  of  it,  in  respect  of  a sup 
never  going  in.  And  there  it  is  to  this  day,  a great 
job,  by  Jagurs  ; why  wouldn’t  it  ?” 

The  gentlemen,  in  their  way  to  the  hotel,  in  Sack- 
ville  street,  now  passed  through  that  line  of  the  Irish 
metropolis,  which  brings  within  the  compass  of  a coup 
cPoril  some  as  noble  public  edifices  and  spacious 
streets  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  most  leading  cities 

* Sir  J..  afterwards  Lord  de  B , the  anecdote  is  a fact. 

It  is  curious  to  observe,  that  the  lowest  classes  of  the  popula- 
tion of  Dublin  are  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  jobbing  sys- 
tems under  which  all  public  transactions  are  effected  in  that 
metropolis : they  also  discuss  them  with  a mixture  of  humor 
and  anger  that  is  extremely  characteristic. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


29 


of  Europe.  All,  however,  was  still,  silent,  and  void. 
The  guide,  walking  parallel  to  the  travellers,  with  his 
eyes  furtively  glancing  on  them,  evidently  watched 
the  effect  which  the  beauty  of  his  native  city  (a 
beauty  of  which  he  was  singularly  proud)  made  upon 
their  minds ; and  when  they  had  reached  that  im- 
posing area,  which  includes  so  much  of  the  architec- 
tural elegance  and  social  bustle  of  Dublin,  (the  area 
flanked  by  its  silent  senate-house,  and  commanded  by 
its  venerable  university,)  he  paused,  as  if  from  weari- 
ness, leaned  his  burthen  against  the  college  ballus- 
trade,  and  drew  upon  the  attention  of  the  strangers 
(who  also  voluntarily  halted  to  look  around  them),  by 
observing,  as  he  pointed  to  the  right,  “ That’s  the  ould 
parliament-house,  sir.  Why,  then,  there  was  grate 
work  going  on  there  oncet,  quiet  and  aisy  as  it  stands 
now,  the  cratur ! grate  work,  shure  enough ! and 
there’s  the  very  lamp-post  I climbed  up  the  night  of 
the  Union.  Och ! then  you’d  think  the  murther  of 
the  world  was  in  it;  and  so  it  was,  shure  enough, — 
that  of  Ireland,  your  honor ; God  help  her ! And 
there  we  were,  from  light  to  light,  and  long  after, 
watching,  ay,  and  praying  too;  and  grate  pelting, 
shurely,  when  they  came  out,  the  thieves,  that  sould 
us  fairly.  And  troth,  if  we’d  have  known  as  much  as 
we  know  now,  it  isn’t  that  a- way  they’d  have  got  off. 
And  never  throve  from  that  hour,  nor  cared  to  cry 
‘ the  Freeman with  the  parliament  debates  not  in  it, 
nor  Counsellor  Grattan.  Och,  the  trade  was  ruined 
entirely ; and  from  that  day  to  this,  never  hawked 

* The  Freeman’s  Journal . one  of  the  most  spirited,  popular 
and  best  conducted  papers  in  the  empire. 

| The  number  of  newspapers  has,  however,  much  increased. 


30 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


the  bit  of  paper,  nor  could  raise  a tinpenny,  only  just 
on  arrands,  long  life  to  your  honors ; and  that’s  what 
the  Union  has  brought  us  to ; and  sorrow  paper  they 
need  print  at  all,  at  all,  now,  only  in  respect  of  the 
paving  board,  and  Counsellor  Gallagher’s  illigant 
speeches.”! 

“ And  what  use  is  made  of  that  magnificent  build- 
ing ?”  asked  Mr.  De  Yere,  who  stood  gazing  upon  it 
with  evident  admiration. 

“ What  use  is  it  they  make  of  it,  your  honor  ? 
Why,  then,  sorrow  a use  in  life,  only  a bank,  sir  ; the 
Bank  of  Ireland ; wrhat  less  use  could  they  make  of 
it  ? And  for  all  that,”  added  the  guide  significantly, 
“ it  cost  a power  to  make  it  what  it  is.” 

“ It  is  a beautiful  thing  of  its  kind,”  said  De  Yere, 
rather  apostrophizing  the  building  than  addressing 
his  companion,  who  stood  silent  and  self-wrapped. 
“ Beautiful  even  now,  entire  and  perfect  in  all  its 
parts — what  will  it  be  centuries  hence,  when  its  co- 
lumns, touched  by  the  consecrating  hand  of  time, 
shall  lie  prostrate,  and  its  pediments  and  architraves 
be  broken  and  moss-grown — when  all  around  it  shall 
be  silence  and  desolation  ? Then,  haply,  some  strife 
of  elements  may  conduct  the  enterprising  spirit  of 
remote  philosophy  to  these  coasts ; may  cast  some 
future  Volney  of  the  Ohio  or  Susquehannah  upon  the 
shores  of  this  little  Palmyra,  when  he  may  surmise 
and  wonder,  may  dream  his  theories,  and  calculate 
his  probabilities  ; and,  bending  over  these  ruins,  may 
see  the  future  in  the  past,  and  apostrophize  the  in- 
evitable fate  of  existing  empires.” 

“ Or  an  American  freeman,”  observed  the  Commo- 
dore, “ the  descendant  of  some  Irish  exile,  may 


31 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


voluntarily  seek  the  bright  green  shores  of  his 
fathers,  and,  in  this  mouldering  structure,  behold  the 
monument  of  their  former  degradation.” 

“ Why,  then,  long  life  to  your  honors,”  added  the 
guide,  who,  with  the  subtility  incident  to  his  class 
and  country,  drew  ingenious,  and  sometimes  exact 
conclusions,  from  very  scanty  premises ; and  who  now 
believed  that  the  strangers  were  predicting  the  ruin 
of  Ireland  from  the  event  of  the  Union  (an  event  exe- 
crated by  all  the  lower  orders  of  the  country). 
“Why,  then,  long  life  to  your  honors,  it’s  true  for 
you;  and  was  said  long  ago,  that  after  the  Union, 
the  grass  would  grow  high  in  Dublin  streets;  and 
would  this  day,  plaze  God,  only  in  respect  of  the 
paving  board,  that  keeps  rippin’  up  the  streets,  and 
layin’  down  the  streets,  from  June  to  January,  just 
for  the  job,  by  Jagurs  !” 

“Well,  there  is  ould  Trinity,”  he  continued,  turn-( 
ing  towards  the  college,  as  he  again  raised  his  load 
upon  his  shoulders  : “ the  boys  that  used  to  bate  the 
world  before  them  oncet  with  their  fun  and  their 
laming,  are  now  down,  like  the  rest — and  doesn’t 
know  one  of  them  myself  now,  barrin  Collagian 
Barrett.” 

“By  the  by,”  said  Mr.  De  Yere,  “is  not  this  Irish 
College  Smart’s  ‘ Temple  of  Dulness,’  in  the  eyes  of, 
whose  learned  doctors  Swift  and  Goldsmith  could 
find  no  favor  ? I have  little  respect  myself  for  incor- 
porated learning,  or  for  literature  and  taste  acquired 
by  act  of  parliament.” 

“Intellectual  illumination,”  replied  the  Commo- 
dore, “like  other  things,  would,  perhaps,  best  find 
its  maximum  when  independent  of  legislative  inter- 


32 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ference.  There  is  an  education  belonging  to  the  spirit 
of  the  age  and  carried  on  by  its  influence,  far  beyond 
the  rules  of  these  worn-out  monastic  institutions.' ” 

“ Och ! it’s  an  ould  place,  shure  enough,'5  g&id  the 
guide,  “ and  least  said  about  it  is  soonest  mended. 
Now,  plaze  your  honors,  I'm  finely  rested,  many 
thanks  to  yez,  and  so  is  mounseer  too,  and  will  attind 
you,  and  lafe  ould  nosey  there  to  put  on;  for  they’ve 
begun  to  deck  the  lad,  early  as  it  is.” 

As  he  spoke,  he  directed  the  observation  of  the 
gentlemen  to  the  equestrian  statue  of  King  William 
the  Third,  which  two  men  were  now  busily  engaged 
in  decorating  with  orange  and  blue  ribbons.* 

“ What  does  it  mean?’5  demanded  Mr.  De  Yere. 

“ What  does  it  mane  ? why  it  manes  to  vex  the 
papists  sore,  your  honor,  shure  that’s  the  ascendancy, 
sir;  only  for  it,  and  the  likes  of  it,  wouldn't  we  be 
this  day  hand  and  glove,  orange  and  green,  sorrow 
one  color  you’d  know  from  the  other.  Och ! but 
that  wouldn’t  do — where  would  the  ascendancy  be  ? — 
only  all  Irishmen  then.” 

* This  ludicrous  and  offensive  spectacle  is  exhibited  at  the 
expense  of  the  civil  magistrate,  on  the  anniversary  of  events 
connected  with  the  triumph  of  the  revolution  party,  and  the 
downfall  of  the  Jacobites.  To  the  Catholics,  who  behold  in 
this  outward  sign  a token  of  their  political  annihilation,  and 
an  insulting  arrogation  of  the  supremacy  of  the  minority  over 
the  majority,  it  is  a source  of  heart-burnings,  and  an  incentive 
to  discord.  As,  however,  its  continued  exhibition  is  a proof 
of  narrow  intellect  and  bad  feelings  in  the  individuals  who  per- 
sist in  repeating  it,  the  oppressed  party  would  do  well  to  turn 
the  laugh  against  their  enemies,  by  ridiculing  the  taste,  and 
mocking  the  vanity  which  finds  pleasure  in  thus  disfiguring  the 
statue. 


FLORENCE  MACAXITHY. 


33 


The  gentlemen  at  length  reached  their  hotel,  which 
might  have  been  taken  for,  what  it  had  once  been,  the 
splendid  mansion  of  a resident  nobleman,  but  for  the 
show-board,  which  designated  its  present  public  use 
and  object. 

Several  idle  persons  stood  lounging  about  the 
door  of  the  hotel.  The  only  person  whom  the  guests 
wished  to  see  (the  master),  did  not  appear;  and  they 
had  to  wait  some  time  before  the  head  waiter  could 
be  found,  to  tell  them  whether  they  could  be  accom- 
modated. What  is  called  the  dead  time  of  the  year, 
is  usually  that  in  which  Ireland  is  most  visited  by 
curious  strangers  (who  choose  that  period  as  the  best 
for  visiting  Killarney  and  the  Giant’s  Causeway),  and 
by  necessitous  absentees,  who,  driven  to  look  for  their 
rents,  or  to  canvass  their  county,  select  that  time  for 
their  penance,  which  they  cannot  well  employ  else- 
where, and  make  a snatch  at  Ireland  in  the  interval 
between  the  London  and  watering-place  seasons. 

While  the  gentlemen  walked  up  and  down  the  hall, 
with  every  symptom  of  impatience,  the  guide  applied 
for  payment  to  the  exhausted  Frenchman,  who  was 
now  lying  full  length  on  a bench,  uttering  many  ex- 
clamations of  annoyance  and  fatigue.  When  he  un- 
derstood the  meaning  of  the  Irishman’s  extended 
hand,  he  gave  him  what  he  considered  a sufficient  re- 
ward for  his  services.  But  as  this  sum  was  barely 
what  the  Irishman  expected,  he  returned  it  carelessly, 
with  “ Here,  mounseer ! I’ll  make  you  a present  of  it.” 
“ Mats , comment  done , mon  ami , qidest  ce  que  tfest ?” 
“What  is  it  I say , is  it?  Why  then,  it’s  what  I 
say,  I wouldn’t  dirty  my  fingers  with  it.” 

“ Then,”  said  one  of  the  waiters,  impatient  to  £et 


34 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


him  out  of  the  hall,  and  snatching  the  portmanteau 
out  of  his  hand,  “ I say,  that  if  you  won’t  take  that, 
I’d  give  you  nothing.” 

“ Wouldn’t  you,  Mr.  Connolly?”  he  replied  coolly. 

“ Why  then,  faith,  it’s  often  you  gave  us  that.  Mister 
Connolly,  and  will  again,  plaze  God.” 

The  laugh  which  this  observation  excited  in  the  by- 
standers raised  Mr.  Connolly’s  choler,  and  he  now  en- 
deavored to  hustle  the  guide  out  of  the  hall ; but  he 
stood  his  ground  firmly,  exclaiming  with  great  cool- 
ness, “ I won’t  go  till  I’m  ped,  Mr.  Connolly ; not  a 
foot,  sir,  nor  wouldn’t  quit,  if  your  master  was  in  it 
hingdelf.” 

The  Commodore  now  came  forward  to  learn  the 
cause  of  the  scuffle,  and  having  heard  both  parties, 
he  turned  abruptly  to  the  guide,  and  demanded, 
“ What  employment  are  you  fit  for  ?” 

“What  employment  am  I fit  for?  every  employ- 
ment in  life,  sir,  good  or  bad.” 

“ Would  you  like  to  go  into  service  ?” 

“ Is  it  into  the  reglar  sarvice,  your  honor  ? Och,. 
then,  I never  favored  that  much.” 

“ Will  you  go  on  board  ship  ?” 

“Is  it  on  board  ship,  sir?”  (rubbing  round  his 
shoulders  and  smiling),  “ Och,  plaze  your  honor,  I 
oncet  went  a long  voyage  sir,  and  the  say  sickness 
didn’t  agree  with  me.” 

“Well,”  said  the  Commodore,  impatiently,  “if  there 
was  one  inclined  to  be  of  service  to  you,  to  enable 
you  to  get  some  more  certain  mode  of  subsistence 
than  that  you  pursue,  what  line  of  life  would  you 
prefer  ?” 

“ Why,  then,  long  life  to  your  honor,  I pray  God* 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


85 


and  if  there  was  a gentleman  would  have  the  great 
kindness  to  lind  me  a trifle  to  get  my  rags  out  of 
pledge,  that  I might  go  back  to  the  trade  nate  and 
dacent,  as  my  ould  father  did  afore  me,  I would  choose, 
}bove  all  the  employments  in  life,  sir,  to  stand  at  the 
post-office  and  cry  the  Freeman's  Journal , plaze  your 
honor.” 

“And  what  sum  will  do  this  for  him?”  asked  the 
Commodore  of  the  head  waiter,  who  now  appeared. 

“ God  bless  you,  sir,  a pound  note  would  make  his 
fortune ; and  I would  be  his  banker,  and  see  it  laid 
out  to  advantage.” 

The  Commodore  silently  presented  the  pound  note, 
and  was  moving  away,  when  the  guide,  following  him 
a few  steps,  dropped  on  his  knees,  and  seizing  the 
skirts  of  his  pelisse,  remained  for  a moment  struggling 
for  utterance,  while  the  tears  stood  in  his  hollow  eyes. 
“ Should  I return  to  Dublin,”  observed  the  Commo- 
dore, touched,  perhaps,  by  the  silent  emotion  of  feel- 
ings so  prompt  and  ardent,  so  opposed  to  the  poor 
man’s  former  gay  and  jocose  acuteness,  “ should  I re- 
turn, I will  inquire  for  you  here ; and  if  I find  you 
have  given  up  breaking  your  fast  with  whiskey ” 

“ My  fast,  your  honor,  that’s  all  for  the  whole  day, 

sir,  mate  or  drink,  and  the  rest  goes — Plaze  your 

honor,  the  little  bit  of  a naked  girl,  at  the  vault,  that’s 
my  child,  sir,  and  four  of  them — only  dacency,  your 
honor,  and  a bit  of  pride,  and  the  childre,  and  the 
pound  note,  sir ; oh  ! its  too  much  goodness  intirely.’ 

The  Commodore  drew  back  from  his  grasp,  and 
motioning  him  to  rise,  added,  “In  that  case, — four 
children  you  say.”  He  then  gave  another  note,  and 
walked  rapidly  away. 


86 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ God  bless  you,  sir,”  said  the  waiter,  who  ran  be- 
fore, and  conducted  the  gentlemen  up  stairs.  “ You 
have  made  one  poor  man  happy  this  morning,  at  all 
events.” 

“ You  have  had  a scena ,”  observed  Mr.  De  Yere, 
languidly. 

“ Almost,”  he  replied,  with  a deep  sigh.  “ Absen- 
tee ! yes,  well  may  they  be  absentees  that  can ! what 
is  that  degree  of  enjoyment  and  individual  happiness, 
which  a man  may  procure,  who  is  liable  every  day  to 
behold  such  misery  as  we  have  witnessed,  within  the 
last  short  hour ; or  who  is  led  to  reflect  for  a moment 
on  the  train  of  misrule,  of  the  collision  of  interests, 
prejudices,  and  feelings,  which  have  produced  such  a 
state  of  society  in  this  fine  country  ?” 

This  speech  was  pronounced  after  they  had  entered 
a handsome  drawing-room,  and  wdtile  each  took  pos- 
session of  a lounge.  The  waiter  then  began  a long 
string  of  apologies.  “ Dressing-rooms  would  be  got 
ready  in  a few  minutes,  as  soon  as  the  Marquis  of  In- 
chigeela  and  his  son,  Lord  Dun  man  a way,  were  gone ; 
and  his  lordship’s  travelling  carriage  was  at  that 
moment  at  the  door:  but  the  house  was -so  full;  a 
number  of  persons  from  England  arrived  by  the  last 
packet : others  about  to  depart  for  Holyhead ;”  and 
he  added,  in  an  “ aside”  whisper,  “ the  elderly  gentle- 
woman would  be  off  in  a jiffy,  as  her  pocliay  wa- 
ordered,  and  she  had  only  stepped  into  the  best  draws 
ing-room  to  write  a letter.”  He  then  added  aloud, 
that  he  would  just  run  down  himself  and  introduce 
the  French  valet  to  the  French  cook,  store  the  gen- 
tlemen’s things  in  the  dressing-room,  and  order  break- 
fast. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


37 


The  waiter  then  shuffled  off,  impressed  with  a high 
opinion  of  the  consequence  of  the  strangers,  from  the 
petulance  of  the  one,  and  the  haughty  look  of  the 
other ; and  believing  them  well  worth  attending  to 
from  the  extraordinary  liberality  of  the  Commodore, 
who,  by  an  act  well  adapted  to  Irish  feelings,  had 
bought  golden  opinions  from  all  who  had  witnessed  it. 

The  mention  made  by  the  waiter  of  the  “ elderly 
gentlewoman,”  was  the  first  intimation  the  strangers 
received  that  such  a person  was  present.  They  now 
threw  their  eyes  round  the  spacious  room,  and  a 
figure,  which  answered  to  the  description,  appeared 
seated  in  one  of  its  remote  corners  at  a Tvriting  table. 
They  turned  their  eyes  instantly  away,  to  a very  fine 
map  of  Ireland  which  hung  on  the  wall,  and  near  to 
which  they  sat.  The  Commodore  took  it  down,  and 
began  to  trace  his  route  with  a pencil,  while  Mr.  De 
Yere  followed  his  track  with  his  eye,  as  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder. 

Meantime  the  gentlewoman  resembled,  as  she  sat, 
one  of  those  wax-work  figures,  which,  at  once  gro- 
tesque and  natural,  are  colored  to  the  life,  yet  inani- 
mate as  death.  For  she  remained,  for  a considerable 
time  after  the  strangers  had  entered  the  room,  with 
her  eyes  riveted  on  their  persons,  and  her  pen  sus- 
pended above  the  paper  upon  which  she  had  been 
writing.  There  was  an  intensity  in  her  fixed  look, 
that  implied  something  more  than  mere  idle  curiosity. 
In  whatever  manner  their  sudden  appearance  had  af- 
fected her,  they  seemed  to  hold  her  senses  in  suspen- 
sion: and  many  minutes  had  elapsed,  the  strangers 
had  travelled,  on  paper,  over  the  whole  province  of 


38 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Munster,  before  she  resumed,  with  a long-drawn  sigh, 
her  interrupted  occupation. 

In  her  person  this  elderly  gentlewoman  was  low 
and  somewhat  bulky ; her  head-dress  was  a tete,  with 
side  curls  powdered,  surmounted  by  a small  high 
crowned  beaver  hat,  laid  fiat  upon  the  head.  She 
vfore  a black  crape  veil,  so  fastened  up  in  the  centre 
as  to  expose  a very  red  nose,  and  a very  large  pair  of 
dark  green  spectacles ; her  chin  was  sunk  in  her  cra- 
vat, whose  long  fringed  ends  belonged  to  other  epochs 
of  fashion  than  the  present.  The  immense  chitterling 
of  her  habit  shirt  appeared  through  her  single-breasted, 
long-waisted,  brass-buttoned,  camblet  Joseph.  Her 
whole  appearance,  though  most  risibly  singular,  was 
such  as  would  have  been  scarcely  deemed  extraordi- 
nary in  the  remote  counties  of  Ireland,  twenty  or  thirty 
years  back,  when  old  fashions  and  old  habits  remained 
in  full  force  among  the  provincial  gentry,  who  pre- 
served the  faith,  principles  and  costume  of  their  an- 
cestors alike  unchanged.  Even  still  such  figures  are 
occasionally  seen  in  the  middle  ranks  of  rural  life, 
riding  on  a pillion  to  Mass  on  a holiday,  or  making 
one  of  a congregation  of  ten  in  some  remote  and  soli- 
tary church,  whose  parish,  though  it  bring  a large 
revenue  to  its  non-resident  incumbent,  may  not  con- 
sist of  as  many  Protestant  families.* 

The  impatience  of  the  travellers  for  the  refresh- 
ment of  the  toilette  and  the  breakfast  table  was  now 
considerably  abated  by  the  occupation  which  the  map 
afforded  them.  The  Commodore  had  traced  with  his 
pencil  the  great  Munster  road  as  far  as  Cashel ; then 

* It  will  be  recollected  that  a quarter  of  a century  has  passed 
since  this  was  written. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


39 


diverged  by  cross  ways  towards  the  Galtee  Moun- 
tains to  the  towns  of  Doneraile  and  Buttevant. 
From  this  point  he  was  proceeding  towards  Kerry 
when  his  companion  interrupted  him  by  observing : 

“ I perceive  we  are  proceeding  by  the  same  route 
as  far  as  Buttevant;  I am  going  to  the  south  and 
shall  halt  at  Kilcolman — the  reposoir , where,  in  the 
course  of  my  pilgrimage  through  this  Island  of  Saints, 
my  imagination  will  do  homage  to  the  memory  of 
Spenser.  If  you  have  not  any  objection  I should  like 
much  to  accompany  you  so  far,  but  you  will  reject 
the  proposal  with  the  same  frankness  it  is  made,  if  it 
is  the  least  gene  to  you.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  I shall  accept  it  with  pleasure, 
as  far  as  Buttevant;  but  from  thence  my  uncertain 
route,  through  a wild  country,  will  be  passed  on 
horseback;  and  the  business  of  an  ardent  research 
would  leave  me  no  time  for  the  enjoyment  of  your 
society,  from  which  I have  already  derived  so  much. 
But,”  he  added,  after  an  abrupt  pause,  and  suddenly 
speaking  in  Spanish,  “ you  are  ignorant  of  my  name 
and  situation.  You  may  dislike  this  equivocal  posi- 
tion, in  which  I am  necessarily  thrown ; for  it  would 
not  suit  my  views  or  my  convenience  to  reveal  either. 
To  the  title,  however,  of  Commodore,  given  me  by 
my  crew,  I have  a right ; for  the  rest  you  must  take 
me  as  I am  and  upon  trust.”  ^ 

“ I take  you  upon  your  own  terms,”  rwas  the  reply, 
“ and  I adopt  them  as  my  own : to  confess  the  truth 
I like  the  mystery  and  romance  of  our  connexion.  It 
is  foreign  to  the  established  forms  of  the  world’s  cal- 
culated ties ; and,  whether  or  no,  when  we  part,  we 
ever  meet  again,  I shall  look  upon  the  accident  which 


40 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


brought  me  acquainted  with  the  Commander  of  11 
Librador  as  among  the  pleasantest  events  of  my  life, 
I am  weary  of  the  stale  forms  of  what  is  falsely  called 
civilized  society ; and  he  who  picks  me  up  unknown, 
unnamed,  in  the  middle  of  the  oceanr  receiving  me 
between  sky  and  sea,  a wanderer  in  the  elements — 
giving  me  the  rites,  of  hospitality,  communicating 
with  me  frankly,  cherishing  no  suspicion,  seeking  no 
confidence,  nor  obtruding  any,  connects  himself,  in 
my  imagination,  with  a state  of  things,  often  dreamed 
of  but  rarely  realized.  Ties,  formed  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, are  precious  as  they  are  rare;  and  by 
me,  at  least,  are  valued  accordingly.” 

“ And  I,”  said  the  Commodore,  wuth  his  splendid 
smile  brightening  the  severity  of  his  singular  counte- 
nance, “ have  just  romance  enough  to  enter  into  your 
feeling ; for  I once  made  a friendship  in  swimming 
down  the  Oronoko,  which  influenced  the  fortune  and 
bent  of  my  future  life.”] 

They  then  agreed  to  leave  Dublin  in  two  hours ; 
and  Mr.  De  Yere  asked,  “What  do  you  do  with 
your  servant  ?”  “ I have  none  but  my  Spanish  mate, 

whom  I leave  to  take  the  command  of  my  vessel 
when  she  is  ready  for  sea.” 

“ Then  I also  will  leave  my  ridiculous  Frenchman 
behind  me  till  I arrive  at  my  place  of  destination ; a 
period  ^ still  hanging  in  the  stars.’  The  master  of 
this  hotel  will  take  care  of  him,  I suppose,  if  well 
paid,  as  he  would  of  my  grey  parrot,  green  monkey, 
or  any  other  exotic  animal  I might  consign  to  him. 
I have  not  the  least  idea,  though,  how  I shall  do  with- 
out a servant ; but  the  situation  will  be  new,  and  so 
far,  good.” 


Florence  macarthv. 


41 


Here  the  waiter  entered,  and  inquired  of  the  “ el- 
derly gentlewoman,”  as  if  merely  to  make  an  excuse 
to  get  her  out  of  the  room,  “ Have  you  any  luggage. 
Ma’am,  to  nut  up  ?”  To  this  question  she  replied 
angrily,  and  interrupting  her  reassumed  letter,  which, 
by  the  motion  of  her  hand,  appeared  to  consist  of 
characters  complex  as  the  ancient  Ogham.  “ Have  I 
any  luggage ! have  I ? Then  do  you  take  me  for  a 
snail,  why  ! with  all  my  goods  on  my  back  ?”  The 
rich  round  Munster  brogue  in  which  this  question 
was  asked,  the  guttural  accentuation  of  the  “ you” 
and  the  “ why,”  peculiar  to  that  province,  and  the 
sharp  key  in  which  it  was  uttered,  made  the  gentle- 
men start;  while  the  impertinent  waiter  took  no 
pains  to  conceal  his  ready  laughter. 

“ You  are  mighty  pert,  sir,”  said  the  old  lady,  toss- 
ing a black  wafer  about  her  mouth,  and  sealing  and 
soiling  the  ill-folded  letter  with  it : she  then  gathered 
up  her  papers  (some  printed  tracts  which  lay  on  the 
table),  and  corking  her  ink-horn,  which  dropped  into 
her  capacious  pocket,  as  a pebble  falls  into  the  bot- 
tom of  a deep  well,  she  lowered  her  veil,  resumed  a 
black  silk,  rabbit-skinjined  cardinal  cloak,  and  wad- 
dling to  the  door,  turned  full  round,  and  made  a 
formal  courtesy  to  the  gentlemen;  the  gentlemen 
bowed,  and  she  retired. 

The  French  valet  had  now  prepared  the  apparatus 
for  the  toilette  : but  before  the  gentlemen  adjourned 
to  their  dressing-rooms,  the  waiter  returned  and  pre- 
sented a note,  illegibly  written  upon  a dirty  card, 
which  Mr.  He  Yere  took  between  his  finger  and 
thumb,  and  read,  first  eagerly  to  himself,  and  then 


42 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


aloud,  with  a look  of  disgust,  amounting  almost  to 
nausea ; it  ran  as  follows  : 

“ Mistress  Magillicuddy  presents  her  respects,  on 
her  way  to  Munster,  would  make  a third  in  a chay,  as 
far  as  Tipperary  town,  if  agreeable.  N.  B.  no  luggage 
to  signify,  foreby  a portmantle  and  bandbox,  also  a 
magpie  and  cage,  would  hang  outside,  if  not  agreeable 
within : would  prefer  the  gentlemen  if  serious  : begs 
your  acceptance  of  a religious  tract,  and  am,  gentle- 
men, Yours,  &c.,  Molly  Magillicuddy.” 

The  waiter  chuckled,  and  observed : “ The  lady 
says  she  forgot  to  mention  the  bird  and  bandbox  are 
to  be  taken  up  in  Thomas  street.”  Mr.  De  Yere 
tossed  the  note  on  the  table,  and  went  to  his  dressing- 
room  ; and  the  Commodore,  with  more  good  breed- 
ing, or,*  rather,  with  more  good  nature,  desired  the 
waiter  to  say  that  previous  arrangements  obliged 
them  to  decline  the  honor  intended  them  by  Mrs. 
Magillicuddy. 

This  singular-looking  lady  had  come  by  the  Holy- 
head  packet  the  night  before,  and  had  ordered  a chaise 
previous  to  the  arrival  of  the  gentlemen.  The  freedom 
with  which  they  had  discussed  their  route  before  her 
had  probably  suggested  the  idea  of  economizing  her 
travelling  expenses  by  joining  them.  She  might  also 
have  had  some  more  important  views  than  those 
which  were  prudently  directed  to  their  purses;  for 
her  inquiry  as  to  their  being  “ serious”  (a  technical 
term  in  a particular  new  light),  indicated  her  calling ; 
and  it  was  possible  she  believed  herself  the  elected 
agent  of  salvation  to  them,  as  to  many  others — the 
Krudner  or  Johanna  Southcote  of  some  Munster  vil- 
lage, to  which  she  might  now  be  returning,  laden  witli 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


48 


sectarian  tracts,  and  Irish  snuff,  bohea  tea,  and  into- 
lerance. 

When  the  waiter  delivered  a negative  answer  to 
her  card,  she  shook  her  head,  and  said : “ In  their 
blindness  they  know  not  what  they  reject,  why ! but 
the  sickle  will  go  forth,  and  the  harvest  will  yet  be 
reaped.” 

She  shortly  after  set  off  for  Naas,  accusing  the 
waiters  of  sauciness  and  extravagant  charges,  talking 
Irish  with  the  driver,  and  lecturing  the  beggars  on 
the  sin  of  idleness.  She  accompanied  her  admonition 
with  some  small  change ; at  the  same  time  accounting 
selfishly  for  her  donation  by  observing,  “ He  that 
giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord.”  “ O ! I en 
gage,”  said  the  waiter  as  he  drove  off,  “ it's  little 
you’d  give,  if  you  didn't  expect  it  back  with  interest 
tenfold — and  that’s,  now,  what  the  likes  of  her  calls 
charity?  It’s  the  charity  that  begins  at  home,  ay,  and 
ends  there  too.  Commend  me  to  the  gentleman 
above  stairs  that  gave  his  two  pound  notes,  and  never 
canted  nor  preached  about  it.  That’s  the  real  charity, 
long  life  to  him !” 

To  this  ejaculation  an  “ amen”  was  repeated  by  all 
present,  who  had  witnessed  the  liberality  of  the  Com- 
modore, and  heard  the  departing  apostrophe  of  the 
“ elderly  gentlewoman.”' 


CHAPTER  H. 


Oh ! quel  homme  sup^rieur ! quel  grand  genie,  que  ce  Poco- 
curante ! Rien  ne  pent  lui  plaire. 

Voltaire. 

The  two  distinguished  strangers,  whom  chance  had 
so  singularly  united,  and  who  had  mutually  chosen, 
from  caprice  or  prudence,  to  hang  the  veil  of  mystery 
over  their  respective  situations,  appeared  to  touch  on 
the  extremes  of  human  character.  But  there  was, 
notwithstanding,  an  obvious  dove-tailing  in  their  dis- 
similitudes ; and  their  moral  disagreements,  like  some 
musical  discords,  produced  a combination  more  gra- 
cious than  the  utmost  perfection  of  a complete  and 
blended  harmony  could  effect.  The  one  seemed  a 
brilliant  illustration  of  physical  and  intellectual  en- 
ergy, thrown  into  perpetual  activity;  the  other  a 
personification  of  moral  abstraction,  originating  inge- 
nious reveries,  which,  though  sometimes  founded  in 
fact,  were  generally  inapplicable  in  practice.  The 
fortunes  of  life  seemed  to  have  formed  the  one,  and 
to  have  spoiled  the  other.  The  one  thought,  sympa- 
thized, and  acted;  the  other  mused,  dreamed,  and 
was  passive.  Their  first  half-hour’s  communication, 
however,  on  board  ship,  was  a reciprocation  of 
mutual  good  will.  Each  felt  he  was  associated  with 
a gentleman ; and  in  that  confidence  had  suffered  in- 
timacy to  grow  with  a rapidity  disproportioned  to  its 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


45 


duration.  But  though  opinions  were  freely  discussed, 
and  almost  always  opposed ; though  sentiments  were 
broadly  debated,  and  principles  vehemently  canvass- 
ed; yet  in  the  conversations  held  by  the  midnight 
moon,  or  the  day’s  preclusive  dawn,  no  circumstance 
of  personal  communication  had  ever  passed  between 
them : mutually  in  possession  of  each  other’s  leading 
opinions,  and  features  of  character,  they  were  igno- 
rant of  all  else  beside. 

Both  gentlemen  spoke  Spanish  and  French  fluently; 
but  the  Commodore  had  a foreign  pronunciation  of 
some  particular  English  words,  which  denoted  him  to 
have  been  long  absent  from  the  countries  where 
English  is  the  vernacular  tongue.  The  reading  of 
the  younger  stranger  seemed  stupendous.  It  included 
the  classics,  ancient  and  modern,  with  the  whole  belles 
lettres  of  European  and  Oriental  literature.  The 
studies  of  the  Commodore  were  evidently  more  con- 
fined to  the  exact  sciences ; and,  with  the  exception 
of  Shakspeare,  Milton,  and  Ossian,  and  of  some  old 
quaint  English  prose  writers  (the  chroniclers  of  Ire- 
land’s hapless  story,  the  Campions,  Spencers,  and 
Hanmers),  his  course  of  English  reading  seemed  cir- 
cumscribed. The  conversation  of  the  one,  therefore, 
was  more  elegant,  ornamented,  and  detailed ; that  of 
the  other  more  original,  energetic,  and  concise.  The 
one  spoke  in  epic,  the  other  in  epigram.  They  had 
both  travelled  much,  and  far ; the  one,  it  should  seem, 
from  choice;  the  other  from  necessity:  and  the  re- 
sult appeared  to  be  that  the  one  had  stored  his  mind 
with  images,  the  other  strengthened  his  judgment  by 
observations.  Such  as  they  were,  they  were  both 
evidently  “ out  of  the  common  roll  of  men” — and 


46 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


alike  distinguished  by  personal  and  mental  supe- 
riority. 

The  Commodore  had  dressed,  breakfasted,  made 
the  necessary  arrangements  for  their  journey  to  Mun- 
ster, and  gone  abroad,  before  his  fellow-traveller  had 
gotten  half-way  through  his  toilette,  even  with  the 
assistance  of  monsieur,  his  valet.  Mr.  De  Yere  had 
indeed  but  just  sat  down  to  his  coffee,  and  his 
“ Faery  Queen,”  when  the  elder  stranger  returned, 
after  an  absence  of  near  two  hours. 

“ Have  you  seen  much  of  Dublin  ?”  asked  the 
younger  traveller,  laying  down  his  book. 

“ Yes,  I believe  I have  been  half  through  it.” 
“What  impression  does  it  give  you  upon  the 
whole  ?” 

“ Why,  with  its  extremes  of  poverty  and  splendor, 
the  wretchedness  of  a great  part  of  its  inhabitants, 
and  the  magnificence  of  its  buildings,  it  is  to  me  a 
Grecian  temple  turned  into  a lazaretto.  One-third 
of  its  population  are  in  an  actual  state  of  pauperism  : 
one-half  of  its  trading  streets  exhibits  as  many  bank- 
rupt sales  as  open  shops ; the  best  houses  are  to  be 
let,  and  the  debtor’s  prisons  are  overflowing.” 

“ Have  you  then  had  time  to  visit  the  prisons  ?” 

“ Business  brought  me  to  one ; business  writh  the 
high  sheriff  of  a county,  who  has  delivered  himself  up 
for  the  purpose  of  a 4 whitewashing’  under  the  insol- 
vency act,  as  he  termed  it.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha  ! an  high  sheriff  in  prison — that’s  sin- 
gular enough.” 

1 Hot  so  singular  in  Ireland;  for  two  other  sheriffs 
were  confined  in  the  same  room  with  him,  and  for  the 
same  purposes.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


47 


“ The  laws  must  he  well  administered.  But  doubt- 
less they  are  all  honorable  men.” 

“ They  are  loyal  men  (as  my  friend  the  sheriff  told 
me),  though  under  a little  present  difficulty.” 

“You  have  purchased  a pocket  telescope,  I per- 
ceive.” 

“Yes,  and  a little  information  from  the  intelligent 
optician  from  whom  I bought  it.  I went  into  his 
shop  as  the  tax-gatherer  was  carrying  out  of  it  several 
articles,  which  he  had  seized  for  non-payment.  The 
-owner  was  looking  on  calmly,  and  to  some  observa- 
tion of  mine,  he  replied,  1 1 have  not  the  money  sir  • 
^ there’s  no  use  in  talking : when  government  have  got 
all,  we  shall  be  at  rest ; we  cannot  be  worse.’  To  my 
remark  on  the  supposed  tendency  of  the  Union,  so 
often  vaunted  in  newspapers,  and  in  debate,  that  it 
would  bring  English  capital  into  Irish  trade,  he 
answered,  ‘ The  effect  of  the  Union  is  ruin  to  Ireland  :* 
since  that  epoch,  her  debt  has  increased,  her  resources 
diminished,  her  taxes  augmented,  her  manufactures 
languishing,  her  gentry  self  exiled,  her  peasantry  tur- 
bulent from  distress,  and  her  tradesmen,  like  myself, 
drained  to  the  last  farthing,  and  sighing  to  remove  to 
that  country,  where  they  will  not  be  obliged  to  pay  a 
large  rent  to  the  government  for  leave  to  live — to 
America.!  But  all  cannot  do  this.’  I note  these  ob- 
servations as  being  curious  from  one  of  his  class.” 

“It  is  a pity,”  said  the  younger  stranger,  “that 

* The  natural  sentiment  of  a bankrupt  Dublin  tradesman  ; 
for  the  worst  changes  consequent  on  that  event  have  been  in- 
cident to  the  retail  trade  of  that  eity. 

f America  is  considered  as  the  land  of  Canaan  by  the  lower 
ranks  of  Irish  : the  peasantry  emphaticaliy  call  it  “ the  Land.” 


48 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


these  Americans  are  &o  baroques ; for  they  are,  politi- 
cally speaking,  a great  people ; they  are,  however,  so 
prosperous,  that  they  can  never  be  interesting : they 
are  beyond  the  reach  of  prose  or  verse : we  may  say 
of  their  national,  as  of  Darby  and  Joan’s  conjugal 
felicity, 

4 They  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep, — what  then? 

Why  sleep,  and  drink,  and  eat  again.7  77 

The  waiter  now  entered,  presented  the  bill,  and  an- 
nouncer] that  all  was  ready  for  their  departure.  The 
landlord,  who  in  his  communication  with  Mr.  De 
Yere  on  the  subject  of  his  valet,  had  decided  at  once 
that  he  was  a man  of  rank  and  fashion,  now  attended, 
and  did  the  honors  of  his  house  in  the  usual  style  of 
Irish  hyperbole. 

“ Upon  my  credit,  gentlemen,  I’m  heartily  sorry 
we’re  losing  the  honor  of  your  company  so  soon ; and 
think  I could  make  the  place  plazing  to  you,  if  you 
would  do  me  the  honor,  on  your  return  from  the 
Lakes  (for  supposes  it  is  to  them  you’re  going),  and 
am  sorry  you  make  such  a short  stay,  without  seeing 
the  Rotunda,  and  the  College,  and  the  Dublin  Society 
House,  and  the  statues.” 

“Statues!  what  statues?”  demanded  the  younger 
stranger,  catching  at  the  sound,  and  stopping  short. 

“ The  statues,  sir,  at  our  society  house,  that’s  kept 
in  the  greatest  style,  and  gets  a touch  up  whenever 
the  place  is  painted.  That’s  by  order,  as  we  say,  in 
the  society  house.”  “ By  what  order  ?”  was  demand- 
ed, with  a smile.  “ By  order  of  the  committee  of 
fine  arts ; and  myself  was  one,  until  business  came  on 
me  so  thick,  and  took  up  my  attention ; and  has  a 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


49 


brother  that  1 shows’  at  the  exhibition  every  year,  a 
great  artist.  Indeed,  I think  you’d  be  plazed,  gentle- 
men, if  you  were  to  stop  and  see  the  exhibition  this 
saison,  and  portrait  No.  2,  full  length  of  Mr.  Roger 
O’Rafferty,  of  the  Back-lane  division,  auxiliary  yeo- 
manry corps,  in  full  regimentals,  standing  quite  quiet, 
and  a cannon  going  off  in  the  Phanix  ;*  that’s  by  my 
brother,  sir.”  This  detailed  statement  of  the  cogno- 
scente landlord  to  prove  the  flourishing  state  of  the 
arts  in  Ireland,  the  country  which  has  given  to  the 
English  school  of  painting  a Barry,  a Shee,  and  a 
Tresham,f  seemed  quite  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  the  strangers,  who  passed  on,  through 
files  of  beggars,  to  their  carriage : they  threw  some 
silver  among  them,  and  hastily  drew  up  the  windows, 
to  exclude  the  infected  air,  as  they  drove  away. 

“ Pa !”  said  the  finer  gentleman  of  the  two,  “ this 
is  breathing  pestilence.” 

“ And  witnessing  its  causes  in  all  their  most  shock- 
ing details : look,  what  a splendid  scene  for  such  a 
grouping  ! what  a noble  street,  and  what  a mendicant 
population !” 

As  they  passed  through  the  southern  suburb,  the 
Commodore  demanded  of  the  postillion  the  name  and 
purposes  of  an  immense  building  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  water. 

“ Is  it  that  forenent  us,  plaze  your  honor,  acrass  the 
Liffey  ? Oh  that’s  the  Royal  barracks ; and  them 

* The  Phoenix  Park  near  Dublin,  the  seat  of  reviews  and 
military  evolutions.  This  beautiful  tract,  to  which  Lord  Ches- 
terfield gave  its  epithet  of  Phoenix,  is  also  the  site  of  the  Vice 
regal  Villa,  and'the  residence  of  the  chief  official  persons. 

t And  since  then  a Maclise. — Ed. 


50 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


there’s  the  Richmond  barracks ; and  if  your  honor 
could  see  behind  you,  sir,  you'd  see  the  Porto  Bello 
barracks,  and  there  afore  you  is  Island  Bridge  bar- 
racks, and  the  barracks  in  the  town  ; and  musha,  my- 
self doesn’t  know  the  half  o’  them.  You  might  travel 
in  the  county  Dublin  mountains,  rising  there  on  your 
lift,  from  barrack  to  barrack,  and  never  get  sight  of 
inn,  or  house,  man  or  baste,  only  sogers,  sir.” 

“ From  this  sample,”  said  the  Commodore,  address- 
ing his  companion,  “ we  might  suppose  the  whole 
country  to  be  one  great  fortress,  as  it  was  in  Eliza- 
beth’s day,  when  the  population  was  divided  into  the 
1 English  rebel,’  and  the  1 Irish  enemy.’  What  an 
expense  this  army  of  occupation  must  prove  to  an 
impoverished  country !” 

“I  have  myself,”  returned  Mr.  De  Yere,  “no  ob- 
jection to  a military  government : ’tis  at  least  pictur- 
esque : it  affords  something  to  look  at,  and  to  de- 
scribe. I like  military  architecture,  battlements  and 
ramparts,  watch-towers  and  bastions.  The  military 
costume,  too ! the  helm  and  hauberk,  and  warlike 
sounds 

* 1 Of  trumpets  loud,  and  clarions.7  77 

“ England  is  hastening  fast  to  this ; but  she  will 
always  want  appropriate  scenery.” 

“ And  I trust  an  appropriate  spirit  too  ! Look  at 
Turkey !” 

“ Why,  yes,  there  is  something  to  look  at  in  Tur- 
key. But  next  to  a military,  I should  prefer  an  eccle- 
siastical government,  the  despotism  of  some  dark 
bigotry,  some  religion 

‘ Full  of  pomp  and  gold, 

With  devils  to  adore  for  deities,7 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


51 


familiars  and  inquisitors  for  ministers  of  state,  and 
auto-da-fes  for  national  festivals.” 

“ Spain,  for  example  ? for  though  your  fertile  imagi- 
nation invent,  as  it  may,  sources  of  oppression  and 
degradation  to  man,  there  are  still  governments  in 
Europe  to  leave  mere  fahle  far  behind.” 

“Well,  after  all,  call  governments  by  what  name 
you  will,  they  all  alike  leave  man  as  they  find  him, 
feeble  and  selfish.” 

“Yes,  because  he  is  man.  But  in  following  the 
natural  order  of  things,  you  at  least  make  him  all  he 
is  capable  of  being.  Nature  is  the  great  legislator. 
In  creating  man  free,  she  commanded  him  to  remain 
so : and  reaction,  sooner  or  later,  follows  the  violation 
of  this  her  first  great  edict.” 

“ This  is  Naas,  your  honor,”  observed  the  postillion, 
addressing  himself  to  the  Commodore,  at  the  end  of 
more  than  an  hour’s  silence,  interrupted  only  by  oc- 
casional questions,  addressed  to  the  driver,  relative  to 
the  surrounding  objects—4  and  there  is  more  bar- 
racks, sir;”  and  he  pointed  to  a handsome  square 
building,  in  itself  almost  a town:  and  there’s  the 

jail,  sir,  an  iligant  fine  building,  and  a croppy’s  head 
spiked  on  the  top  of  it.  I’ll  engage,”  he  added, 
opening  the  door  (for  Naas  was  their  first  stage); 
“I’ll  engage  he’ll  rue  the  day  he  saw  Vinegar-hill, 
anyhow,  wherever  he  is,  poor  lad.” 

The  Commodore,  as  he  alighted,  raised  his  eyes  to 
Ithe  point  at  which  the  postillion’s  whip  was  directed, 
land  beheld  a human  head,  bleached  and  shining  in 
(the  noon-day  sunbeam.  Turning  away  his  eyes  in 
disgust,  he  passed  under  the  fine  arch  of  a ruined 
monastery  of  Dominicans ; as  if  it  were  relief  to  his 


52 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


feelings  to  associate  with  less  frightful  images  of  death 
in  its  retired  cemetery,  than  to  behold  them  connect- 
ed with  such  horrific  associations,  exposed  in  the  high 
road  of  a public  thoroughfare,  a frightful  landmark 
for  an  unfortunate  country. 

The  travellers  proceeded  on  their  journey  towards 
the  province  of  Munster,  a province  peculiarly  inter- 
esting for  its  historical  recollections,  and  for  those 
scenes,  alternately  wild  and  picturesque,  which  attract 
to  its  site  the  footsteps  of  taste  and  curiosity,  and 
furnish  to  foreign  artists  so  many  combinations  of 
scenic  loveliness.  Conversation  had  been  frequently 
dropped  and  renewed ; and  the  travellers  had  again 
remained  silent  for  some  miles,  when  they  overtook  a 
chaise,  from  which  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  formally  saluted 
them.  The  elder  stranger,  recognizing  the  green 
spectacles  and  chitterling  (the  most  conspicuous  parts 
of  her  figure),  answered  her  salutation  with  a bow ; 
the  younger  turned  away  his  head  in  disgust. 

“ An  ounce  of  civet  would  not  sweeten  my  imagi- 
nation,” he  observed,  “ from  the  infection  communi- 
cated to  it  by  the  idea  of  that  horrible  old  Irishwoman, 
shut  up  in  this  chaise  with  her  and  her  magpie  ! ! 
Do  you  know,  this  image  has  haunted  me  ever  since 
she  made  the  frightful  proposal.” 

The  smile  of  his  companion  indicated  his  conscious- 
ness of  this  avowed  prejudice ; and  the  attention  of 
the  travellers  became  again  engaged  with  the  passing 
scene.  The  various  objects  which  presented  them- 
selves to  their  view,  both  moral  and  physical,  were 
seen  by  each  through  such  mediums  as  their  respect- 
ive peculiarity,  taste,  and  temperament,  were  likely  to 
produce.  The  one,  rapid  in  perception,  instinctively 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


53 


just  in  inference,  quick,  curious,  active,  inquiring,  di- 
rected the  whole  force  of  his  acute,  prompt  observa- 
tion, to  the  people  and  their  localities,  as  both  ap- 
peared upon  the  surface.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
peasant’s  hut : it  was  the  model  of  the  “ mere  Irish- 
man’s” hovel,  as  it  rose  amidst  scenes  of  desolation 
during  the  civil  wars  of  Elizabeth’s  reign.  It  was  the 
same  described  by  William  Lithgow,  the  Scotch  pil- 
grim, the  noted  traveller  of  that  remote  day.  “A 
fabric  erected  in  a single  frame  of  smoke-torn  straw, 
green,  long-pricked  turf,  and  rain-dropping  wattles; 
where,  in  foul  weather,  its  master  can  scarcely  f nd  a 
dry  place  to  repose  his  sky-baptized  head  upon.” 

He  beheld  the  tenant  of  this  miserable  dwelling 
working  on  the  roads,  toiling  in  the  ditches,  laboring 
in  the  fields,  with  an  expression  of  lifeless  activity 
marking  his  exertions,  the  result  of  their  deepfelt  in- 
adequacy : his  gaunt,  athletic  frame  was  meagre  and 
fleshless,  his  color  livid,  his  features  sharpened : his 
countenance,  though  readily  brightening  into  smiles 
of  gaiety  or  derision,  expressed  the  habitual  influence 
of  strong  dark  passions.  The  quick  intelligence  of 
his  careless  glances  mingled  with  the  lurking  slyness 
of  distrust — the  instinctive  self-defence  of  conscious 
degradation.  He  beheld  multitudes  of  half-naked 
children,  the  loveliness  of  their  age  disfigured  by 
squalid  want,  and  by  the  filthy  drapery  of  extreme 
poverty, — idle  and  joyless,  loitering  before  the  cabin 
door,  or  following  in  the  train  of  a mendicant  mother. 
Her  partner  in  misery  had  haply  gone  to  seek  employ- 
ment from  the  English  harvest,  where  his  hire  would 
be  paid  with  the  smile  of  derision;  and  where  he 
would  be  expected  to  excite  laughter  by  his  blunders, 


54 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


who  might  well  command  tears  by  his  wretchedness. 

In  the  proclaimed  districts,  the  misery  of  the  peas- 
ant population  was  most  conspicuous.  For  he  to 
whom 

•*  The  world  was  no  friend,  nor  the  world’s  law.” 

might  well  set  both  at  defiance.  The  forfeit  of  life 
could  be  deemed  but  a small  penalty  to  him,  who  in 
preserving  it  “ showeth  a greater  necessity  he  hath  to 
live,  than  any  pleasure  he  can  have  in  living.” 

The  few  vehicles,  public  or  private,  observable  on 
the  high  roads,  and  the  total  absence  of  a respectable 
yeomanry,  marked  the  scantiness  of  a resident  gentry, 
ana  the  want  of  that  independent  class,  “ a country’s 
boast  and  pride.”  Yet  many  stately  edifices,  the 
monuments  of  ancient  splendor,  or  of  modern  taste, 
rose  along  the  way ; the  former  in  ruins,  the  latter  al- 
most invariably  unfinished.  The  castle  of  the  ancient 
chief,  and  the  mansion  of  the  existing  landlord,  were 
alike  desolated  and  deserted.  Town  succeeding  town, 
marked  the  influence  and  power  of  the  great  English 
palatines,  who  drew  their  wealth  and  luxury  from  a 
land  to  which,  like  their  forefathers,  for  generations 
back,  they  were  strangers ; and  the  name  and  arms 
of  the  English  nobility,  suspended  over  inns,  embla- 
zoned over  court-houses,  and  fixed  in  the  walls  of 
churches,  or  shining  above  their  altars,  called  atten- 
tion to  the  extensive  territories  of  these  descendants 
of  the  undertakers,  and  grantees  of  the  Elizabeths, 
the  Jameses,  and  the  Charleses.  The  surface  of  the 
country  contained  the  leading  facts  of  its  history,  and 
those  who  ran  might  read.  He  who  now  read,  stu- 
died (not  without  a comment)  that  text,  whose  spirit 
and  whose  letter  were  misrule  and  oppression. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


55 


The  young  stranger  saw  with  other  eyes,  and  by 
the  illusory  lights  of  a sleepless  imagination.  But 
his  philosophy,  though  cynical,  was  not  the  cynicism 
of  experience ; it  was  the  satiety  of  early  excited  and 
promptly  exhausted  sensations.  Man,  with  him,  was 
everywhere  as  well  off  as  he  deserved  to  be,  because 
nowhere  did  “ man  delight”  him : all  references  came 
home  to  his  own  enjoyment,  and  were  appreciated, 
as  they  extended  or  curtailed  its  sphere.  He  looked 
only  to  that  which  could  gratify  the  dominant  faculty 
of  his  existence ; and  while  he  found 

“ Nature  wanted  stuff, 

To  vie  strange  forms  with  fancy,” 

he  sought  in  the  combinations  of  art,  as  formed  under 
various  epochs  of  society,  for  such  objects  and  images 
as  embodying  events  long  passed,  were  consecrated, 
and  preserved  in  memory  and  imagination  alone. 

He  had  induced  his  companion  to  lengthen  and 
diverge  from  their  route  by  visiting  the  town  of 
Kildare,  once  a city  of  historical  and  monastic  im- 
portance; because,  there,  his  road-book  told  him, 
were  still  visible  some  remains  of  the  “ Firehouse” — 
a Christian  temple,  where  the  nuns  of  St.  Bridget, 
like  the  heathen  priestesses  of  Vesta,  kept  watch 
over  the  sacred  flame,  which  was  afterwards  extin- 
guished by  the  English  bishop,  Henri  de  Londres  (2). 
He  found  a little  town,  ruinous  and  wretched,  with 
many  symptoms  of  poverty,  and  few  of  antiquity; 
and  he  hurried  from  it  in  disappointment  and  dislike 
He  insisted  on  stopping  the  first  night  at  Kilkenny, 
f >r  the  purpose  of  viewing  its  feudal  castle  of  the 
Butlers  and  the  splendid  ruins  of  its  abbeys.  But, 


56 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


even  here,  imagination  had  got  the  start  of  fact; 
and,  though  a busy  fancy  peopled  the  silent  aisles  of 
St.  Francis  and  St.  John’s  with 

“ eremites  and  friars, 

White,  black  and  grey,  with  all  their  trumpery  ; ” 
though  he  garrisoned  the  ramparts  with  “ Irish 
kernes  and  galloglaces,”  imagination  ever  left  possi- 
bility behind.  Disappointment  hung  like  a noxious 
vapor  upon  his  steps ; and  he  everywhere  found  rea- 
son, or  sought  it,  to  scoff  at  the  folly  and  feebleness 
of  man,  who,  under  all  stages  of  society,  he  esteemed 
the  victim  of  a blindness,  beyond  his  power  to  dis- 
pel : alternately  tyrant  or  slave,  impostor  or  dupe — 
neither  by  his  own  free  will 

Views  thus  opposed,  and  sentiments  thus  contrast- 
ed, naturally  begot  frequent  and  long-protracted  dis- 
cussions, as  fresh  objects  afforded  themes  for  obser- 
vation or  reflection.  The  travellers  had  passed  the 
boundaries  of  the  frequently-proclaimed  county  of 
Tipperary,  without  interruption  to  their  debate  or 
any  impediment  to  their  journey  (such  as  have  been 
supposed  the  inevitable  concomitants  of  Irish  post- 
ing), when  the  postillion,  alighting  to  lead  his  horses 
over  a bad  step,  startled  them  by  exclaiming  aloud— 
“ Why,  then,  the  curse  of  Cromwell  on  ye  Longford- 
pass,  for  you’ve  joulted  the  very  life  out  of  me  so 
you  have then,  having  desired  his  horses  to  “ get 
along  out  of  that,”  he  dropped  back,  and,  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  carriage  window,  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  the  gentlemen,  by  strongly  advising  them 
, to  give  up  the  iday  of  making  Thurles  their  sleeping 
stage : first,  becaise  it  was  the  same  to  his  employer 
whether  they  went  a few  miles  one  way  or  t’other ; 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


57 


and,  secondly,  becaise  that  Thurles  town  would  be 
full  of  tlf  army,  in  respect  of  changing  quarters ; two 
regiments  marching  to  Cork  and  Kerry  to  be  sprin- 
kled among  the  towns  and  mountain  barracks ; and 
there  will  be  grate  billetting  the  night,  and  the  inn 
taken  up  entirely  with  the  officers;  and  what  matter? 
Shure  Holycross  was  but  a (V,ny*  bit  further,  and 
wouldn’t  make  an  hour’s  differ.  There  was  a new 
opposition  inn  in  the  neighborhood,  set  up  against 
Thurles,  and  kept  by  the  maister’s  cousin-germain, 
Mr.  Dooly,  where  everything  was  nate.  and  clane, 
and  quiet. 

“ Is  Holycross  a town?”  demanded  Mr.  De  Yere, 
caught  by  the  religious  romance  of  its  name  (3). 

“ It  is,  your  honor ; that  is,  not  a town,  sir,  only  a 
township  and  chapelry;  and  blessed  ground  every 
foot  of  it,  and  well  it  may  be.  Isn’t  there  a great  big 
piece  of  the  holy  cross  itself,  the  wood  of  life,  buried 
in  the  fine  ancient  ould  abbey  there,  that  the  travel- 
lers do  be  coming  to  see,  far  and  near?  And  its 
that,  why,  plaze  your  honors,  that  of  all  places  in  the 
world  round,  the  devil  (Christ  save  us !)  daren’t  show 
the  track  of  his  hoof  near  that  township  : and  troth, 
gentlemen  dear,  it  would  be  worth  while  to  go  ten 
mile  round  any  time  to  see  it,  only  in  respect  of  the 
lovely  fine  tomb  of  th’  ould  king  that’s  in  it,  my 
namesake,  Donogh  O Brien,  King  of  Limerick. 
Which  road  shall  I take,  sir?  There,  lies  the  turn 
to  Thurles,  and  there,  to  Holycross,  your  honor.” 

“I  think  the  quiet  inn,  the  ruined  abbey,  and 
O'Brien  s tomb,  decide  it,”  said  the  Commodore. 

“ Unquestionably,”  replied  his  companion ; and  the 

* Ddny,  small — so  used  by  Spenser. 


58 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


driver  received  his  orders  for  Holycross.  As  he 
turned  his  horses’  heads,  a chaise  passed  before  them, 
taking  the  Thurles  road ; and  the  spectacles,  tele , and 
high  crowned  hat  of  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  appeared 
above  the  magpie’s  cage,  which  was  suspended  at  the 
side  of  one  of  the  windows. 

u Raison  de  plus  ” said  Mr.  De  Vere,  sinking  back 
in  the  carriage.  “ I would  rather  fall  in  with  a legion 
of  marching  regiments,  than  come  in  the  way  of  that 
horrible  old  woman,  and  a renewal  of  her  terrifying 
proposition.” 

The  Commodore  smiled.  He  was  amused  to 
observe  that  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  and  her  magpie  had 
taken  possession  of  his  companion’s  susceptible  im- 
agination; that  the  idea  of  an  intimate  association 
with  her  had  become  as  much  the  “ chimcera  dire”  of 
his  fancy,  as  her  actual  presence  would  have  been  the 
annoyance  of  his  senses,  and  the  destruction  of  his- 
ease  and  comfort ; he  had  more  than  once  alluded  to 
the  disgust  of  an  atmosphere  of  Irish  snuff  and  mar- 
row pomatum,  to  the  uninviting  images  of  spectacles 
and  pocket  handkerchiefs,  pious  tracts  and  fusty  bird 
cages.  The  accident  of  her  going  the  same  route, 
and  her  being  enabled  to  keep  pace  with  them,  by 
their  delay  at  Kildare  and  Kilkenny  (for  till  the  last 
stage  they  had  travelled  with  four  horses),  were  con- 
jured into  nothing  less  than  a fatality;  and  even  her 
innocent  magpie  was  considered  as  an  oiseau  de 
mauvais  augure . 

“You  are  certain,”  said  the  younger  traveller,  ad- 
dressing the  driver,  and  pointing  to  the  route  taken 
by  the  old  lady’s  chaise,  “that  that  road  leads  to 
Thurles  V 


FLORENCE  MACARTHV, 


59 


<(Shure  and  sartin,  your  honor,  straight  on  fore- 
went, and  a turn  in  it  to  the  lift,  that  lades  to  the 
nunnery,  sir.” 

“What  nunnery?  Are  there  nunneries  in  this 
country  ?” 

“ Is  it  nunneries,  sir  ? There  is— plenty : there  is 
one  there,  off  to  the  left,  between  Thurles  road  and 
Holycross,  that’s  the  convent  of  Our  Lady  of  the  An- 
nunciation.” He  now  jumped  upon  the  wooden  bar, 
which  served  him  as  a seat,  and  giving  his  horses  the 
whip,  proceeded  at  a rapid  pace. 

As  the  travellers  approached  the  miserable  little 
village  of  Holycross,  the  sun’s  last  rays  had  with- 
drawn from  the  horizon,  in  all  the  mild  and  melan- 
choly gloom  of  an  autumnal  evening.  The  grey  tints 
of  the  clouded  atmosphere  were  reflected  in  shadows 
on  the  bosom  of  the  Suir,  along  whose  banks  arose  the 
stately  ruins  of  the  abbey.  The  inn,  recommended  by 
the  driver,  the  only  inn,  was  a small  house  leading  to 
the  village,  and  bearing  the  sign  of  the  Mitre  and 
Crozier,  as  appropriate  to  its  site. 

The  approach  of  a chaise  was  evidently  no  common 
event ; for  the  landlord,  his  wife,  a ragged  old  waiter, 
with  a bare-footed  girl  (the  bar-maid,  house-maid,  and 
kitchen-maid  of  the  establishment),  had  stood  at  the 
door  for  some  time,  eagerly  watching  its  approach. 
All  were  instantly  in  employment,  carrying  in  the 
portmanteaux,  conducting  the  travellers  to  their  room, 
and  knocking  their  heads  together,  in  a confusion, 
increased  by  their  efforts  to  do  the  honors  to  such 
unusual  guests.  The  travellers  perceived  that  they 
were  also  the  only  guests ; and  they  were  not  dis- 
pleased by  a circumstance  which  ensured  not  only 


60 


FLORENCE  MACARTmf. 


their  quietude,  but  their  accommodation : in  Ireland, 
inns  are  good  in  proportion  as  they  are  unfrequented. 
The  humble  innkeeper  of  Holycross  had  recently 
fitted  up  a couple  of  bedrooms  in  what  had  lately 
been  a mere  shebeen  house  (4),  and  dignified  with  the 
name  of  inn  the  little  building,  which  had  been  for 
half  a century  a noted  baiting  place  for  foot  and  horse 
travellers,  and  for  such  pious  pilgrims  (and  they  were 
not  few)  as  still  came  to  visit  the  shrine  of  the  holy 
relic. 

A few  inquiries,  and  the  ordering  of  a late  dinner, 
took  up  a quarter  of  an  hour ; after  which  the  travel- 
lers proceeded  to  visit  the  abbey.  The  twilight  was 
thickening  into  darkness,  but  the  air  was  fresh  and 
balmy;  and  motion  and  activity  were  positive  enjoy- 
ments to  those  who  had  for  many  hours  suffered  the 
cramping  restraint  and  fatiguing  dislocation  of  an 
Irish  post-chaise. 

The  inn  lay  half  a mile  from  the  abbey,  to  which 
they  passed  over  a bridge,  thrown  across  the  river 
Suir,  which  formed  a communication  between  the 
village  and  the  abbey  grounds.  The  ruins  covered  a 
considerable  tract,  and  were  contrasted  in  their  im- 
posing magnitude  by  a few  wretched  hovels  construct- 
ed out  of  their  fragments.  This  consecrated  pile  is 
among  the  few  interesting  monuments  of  antiquity 
now  extant  in  a country  that,  according  to  the  state- 
ments of  the  biographer  of  St.  Rumoldi,  once  con- 
tained some  of  the  most  magnificent  religious  edifices 
of  Europe. 

Raised  by  the  piety  and  power  of  an  Irish  provin- 
cial prince,  Donagh  Carbraigh  O’Brien,  for  monks  of 
the  Cistercian  order,  and  consecrated  to  the  Holy 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


61 


Cross,  St.  Mary,  and  St.  Benedict,  it  owed  its  princi- 
pal consequence  to  the  relic  of  the  cross  incased  in 
gold  and  precious  stones,  given  by  Pope  Paschal  II. 
to  Mac  Morragh,  the  predecessor  of  Carbraigh.  The 
charms  of  the  beautiful  architecture  must,  in  days  so 
rude,  have  contributed  not  a little  to  its  fame ; and 
the  devotion  paid  to  the  relic  it  enshrined  has  been 
declared  by  an*English  minister*  to  have  been  univer- 
sal throughout  the  island. 

The  strangers  contemplated  for  a considerable  time 
the  broken  mass  of  its  dark  exterior,  and  the  high 
steeple,  supported  by  beautiful  Gothic  arches.  They 
entered  the  broad  nave,  but,  like  the  rest  of  the  ruin, 
it  was  wrapt  in  one  undistinguishable  hue ; and  the 
majesty  of  darkness  succeeded  to  the  deep  and  misty 
forms  of  twilight. 

“ Darkness,”  said  the  younger  stranger,  after  a 
silence  of  some  minutes,  “ is  decidedly  the  source  of 
the  true  sublime.” 

“ And  light,”  replied  the  Commodore,  “ of  beauty  : 
light  is  life,  the  source  of  forms  and  motions  ; dark- 
ness is  death  : I abhor  it.” 

“And  I love  it.  I love  the  uncertainty  of  this 
mysterious ' dimness  (for  instance),  where  everything 
is  guessed  and  nothing  known ; where  at  every  doubt- 
ful step, 

‘ Solemn  and  slow  the  shadows  blacker  fail, 

And  all  is  awful  listening  gloom  around.’  ” 

A deep  sigh,  heard  near  and  distinct,  answered  as  he 
spoke. 

“ Did  you  sigh  ?”  he  asked  quickly. 

* See  Sir  Henry  Sidney’s  State  Papers. 


62 


FLORENCE  MACARTHYr 


“ No  : did  not  yon?”  was  the  reply. 

“ Not  I.  Yet  some  one  sighed  most  assuredly.57 

“ ’Tis  the  wind  among  the  ruins,”  said  the  Com- 
modore, carelessly. 

“ No,  the  air  is  breathless.  It  was  a human,  per- 
haps a superhuman  respiration.” 

“ That  is  physically  impossible : respiration  is  or- 
ganization : spirits  have  none.  But  do  you  believe  in 
superhuman  agency  ?” 

“ I believe,  and  I deny  nothing.  I resign  myself 
passively  to  events,  moral  and  physical,  as  they  oc- 
cur. This,  I fancy,  was  the  original  intention  of  pro- 
vidence with  respect  to  man,  when  it  made  him  dark, 
and  left  him  so ; — -the  child  of  ignorance,  and  its 
victim.” 

“ Then  why  endow  him  with  faculties,  which  impel 
him  to  inquiry,  and  force  him  into  action,  which  lead 
him  to  dispel  his  darkness,  and  rise  above  his 
nature  ?” 

11  Hush  f there  again  ! I am  certain  I heard  the 
heavings  of  a short  convulsive  respiration.  ’Tis  most 
singular !” 

“ The  place  affects  you.  We  will  return,  and  view 
it  by  daylight.” 

“ No,”  said  Mr.  De  Vere,  seating  himself  on  a frag- 
ment of  the  ruin ; “ this  is  to  me  positive  enjoy- 
ment.” 

As  he  spoke,  the  dispersion  of  a dense  cloud,  which 
had  long  scowled  over  the  darkened  landscape,  and 
which  now  breaking  into  fleecy  vapor,  displayed  the 
broad  bright  moon,  as  it  rose  in  splendor  above  the 
roofless  ruin.  A sheet  of  light  fell  upon  the  nave, 
which  the  strangers  occupied,  leaving  in  shadow  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


63 


lateral  aisles,  that  formed  a pillared  arcade  on  either 
side.  Parts  of  the  ruin  remained  black  and  massive, 
while  the  shrine  of  the  holy  relic  stood  illuminated ; 
and  broken  rays  and  silvered  points  glittered  on  the 
projected  tracery  of  the  arches  and  twisted  pillars, 
which  supported  the  canopy  of  the  royal  tomb. 

Both  travellers  had  been  some  moments  silent, 
when  suddenly  the  younger  spoke.  He  sighed  pro- 
foundly, and  asked : “ Is  not  this  the  twenty-fifth  of 
August  ?” 

“ I believe  so,”  was  the  reply. 

“ ’Tis  a curious  coincidence : on  this  day,  at  this 
hour,  seven  years  ago  (my  birthday,  too,  the 
day  I came  of  age),  being  in  Galicia  in  Spain, 
chance  led  me  to  the  site  of  a Moorish  ruin,  adjoin- 
ing the  cloisters  of  the  church  of  the  convent  of 
Nuestra  Senora  de  las  Angustius.*  I passed,  musing 
on  the  course  of  things,  from  the  fragments  of  Ara 
bic  taste  and  Mahometan  superstition,  into  the  tern 
pie  of  Christian  rites.  Vespers  were  just  celebratedt 
A few  stragglers,  who  had  remained  after  service, 
gradually  disappeared.  I was  still  examining  monu- 
ments, gazing  on  pictures,  and  numbering  columns, 
when  darkness  fell  around  me.  The  different  ave- 
nues of  entrance  were  closed,  all  save  one,  which  led 
to  what  had  once  been  a Moorish  orangeries  this 
formed  a part  of  the  pleasure-grounds  and  cemetery 
of  the  adjoining  convent.  While  I looked  round  for 
some  means  of  egress  (twilight  rendering  ail  objects 
dim  and  uncertain),  sounds  that  seemed  to  come  from 
heaven  met  my  ear : the  next  moment  my  eye  fell 
upon  the  minstrel.  By  the  white  veil  and  rosary, 

* Our  Lady  of  Sorrow. 


64 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


it  was  an  unprofessed  novice  : she  was  seated  on  the 
fragment  of  a Moorish  bath,  leaning  her  cheek  close 

to  the  lute,  from  which  she  had  drawn  such  enchant- 

• » 

mg  harmony ; as  if  she  were  childishly,  yet  prettily 
charmed  with  the  sound  herself  had  made.” 

“ It  is  a pretty  image,  altogether,”  said  his  auditor, 
seating  himself  beside  him,  among  the  ruins,  “ and  it 
reminds  me  of  a famous  picture  by  Rosso  Florentine, 
of  a seraph  listening  to  its  own  lute.” 

“ The  resemblance  was  so  great,”  returned  the  nar- 
rator, “ that  I had  that  design  copied  on  this  box, 
with  the  little  alteration  of  substituting  the  novice’s 
veil  for  the  wing  of  the  cherub,  and  the  head  of  a 
lovely  woman  for  that  of  a seraph.” 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a superb 
gold  box,  surmounted  with  the  picture  he  had  de- 
scribed, done  in  enamel.  The  moonlight  fell  full 
upon  its  surface ; and  in  the  position  in  which  the 
Commodore  held  it,  it  was  distinctly  visible.  “ Is 
this  head  a portrait  ?”  he  demanded. 

“Not  exactly.  It  was  done  from  the  idea  I gave 
the  artist ; an  idea  in  every  sense ; for  though  the 
form  and  outline  of  the  fair  original,  her  fairy  step- 
ping, her  aerial  motions,  became  too  soon  well  known, 
yet  the  features  which  that  envious  veil  concealed 
were  never  but  dimly  seen,  half  shrouded,  half  re- 
vealed, pale  in  the  moon’s  uncertain  light,  dark  under 
the  shadows  of  the  monumental  cypress.  In  the 
stolen  and  dangerous  interviews  which  followed  the 
first  accidental  meeting,  amidst  scenes  of  silence, 
mystery,  and  death,  that  face  was  never  fully  revealed. 
Oh ! there  was  in  that  sweet,  pure,  and  short-lived 
communion,  a fanciful  and  unearthly  charm,  which  I 


Florence  macarthy. 


65 


have  often  since  vainly  sought.  It  was  associated 
with  scenes  impressive  on  the  imagination : it  was 
pure  as  a spirit’s  love  : no  sordid  view  nor  selfish 
feeling  polluted  the  bright  spring  of  genuine  passion. 
I was  loved  for  myself;  nor  knew  I the  name  of  my 
concealed  mistress,  save  that  which  the  Church  had 
given  her— the  Sister  Benedicta.” 

“ Then  you  wooed,  and  won  this  mysterious  saint  ?” 
asked  the  Commodore,  impatiently.  “Wooed!  yes; 
wooed,  and  weaned  the  soul  of  this  consecrated  being 
from  her  heavenly  spouse,  ‘ her  spouse  in  vain ;’  but 
my  conquest  stopped  there.  I proposed  to  carry  my 
young  novice  to  South  America ; and  in  some  of  the 
Eden  clifts  of  the  cloud-embosomed  Cordilleras,  to 
lead  with  her  that  blessed  life  of  free,  unfettered 
passion,  which  nature  dictated  to  the  first  created 
pair.  Pride,  and  bigotry,  which  she  doubtless  digni- 
fied with  the  name  of  virtue,  triumphed  over  love. 
We  parted:  I found  her  innocent,  I left  her  so;  I 
found  her  happy  too,  at  least  contented  and  deceived ; 
and  it  is  not  long  since  I ordered  a Spanish  friend  to 
erect  a cenotaph  to  her  memory,  in  the  cemetery  of 
her  convent,  with  this  device — a lily  fading  beneath 
a sunbeam  ; and  with  this  motto,  1 Sic  me  Phoebus 
amat .’  ” 

“ You  know  then  that  she  died,  and  think  ’twas  of 
a broken  heart  ?”  asked  his  auditor. 

“ I cannot  doubt  it ; though  I have  never  heard 
from  the  friend  to  whom  I trusted  my  sad  commis- 
sion ; and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  the  conviction  still 
haunts  my  imagination,  with  a melancholy  force,  that 
grows  with  what  it  feeds  on.” 


66 


FLORENCE  MACARTfif. 


“ Oh ! your  imagination !”  repeated  the  Commo- 
dore, significantly,  as  he  returned  the  box. 

“ Yes,”  continued  the  narrator;  “ and  in  sketching 
the  story,  which  I have  given  to  the  world  anony- 
mously, the  description  of  her  death-bed  scene  almost 
drove  me  mad.” 

A short  wild  laugh  now  rang  through  the  ruins,  as 
if  some  malignant  fiend  had  formed  a part  of  the  au- 
dience, and  scoffed  at  the  fantastic  folly  of  human 
vanity,  the  short-lived  influence  of  human  passion. 

The  strangers  both  started,  and  remained  for  a 
moment  silent  and  motionless. 

“ We  have  been  overheard,”  said  the  elder. 

“ I should  say  by  nothing  human,”  replied  his  com- 
panion. “ Look  round  you : see,  we  are  alone : all  is 
now  silence  and  solitude.” 

“Now,  perhaps,  but  not  a moment  back.  Look 
there,  something  is  in  motion.” 

They  both  darted  forward.  The  moon  had  sunk 
in  clouds,  the  stars  were  few,  the  pavement  broken, 
and  their  steps  uncertain.  Still  the  Commodore  at- 
tained the  object  of  his  pursuit.  It  was  an  old  mule 
grazing  on  the  scanty  herbage  which  sprang  up 
among  the  ruins. 

“ This  is  a most  ludicrous  adventure !”  said  the 
Commodore ; “ and  we  had  better  terminate  it  by 
returning  to  our  inn  and  our  supper.” 


CHAPTER  III. 


Bocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens, 
And  shades  of  death.  All  monstrous, 
All  prodigious  things  ! 


Milton. 


Butteyant  was  the  last  stage  which  the  travellers 
had  agreed  to  pass  together ; and  whether  a feeling 
of  regret  attended  this  conviction,  or  other  causes  se- 
cretly operated  to  protract  their  departure,  they  left 
Holycross  at  an  hour  comparatively  iate,  to  begin  a 
journey  of  some  distance,  through  one  of  the  wildest 
mountain  tracts,  and  least  frequented  cross  roads,  in 
the  province  of  Munster^ 

Their  next  stage,  however,  was  excellent : it  was 
only  to  Cashel;  and  to  judge  from  the  group  of 
sturdy  fellows  who  lurked  about  the  door  of  the  inn, 
to  which  the  travellers  were  driven,  that  town  'was 
not  without  its  due  portion  of  idlers — a natural  cir- 
cumstance in  the  capital  of  a grazing  county.  As  the 
chaise  stopped,  the  gentlemen  were  looking  over 
their  travelling  map.  They  had  marked  out  their 
route  by  the  road-book,  and  had  chosen  the  most  pic- 
turesque, rather,  perhaps,  than  the  best  line  of  pro- 
gress. To  cross  the  elevated  chain  of  the  Galtees, 
they  had  selected  the  road  by  Gaul  Bally  (the  town 
of  the  Gauls  or  Celts),  with  its  monastic  ruins,  in  pre- 
ference to  the  Glen  of  Agherlow,  a valley  on  the  op- 


68 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


posite  side  of  the  mountains,  which,  though  it  would 
have  lengthened  their  route,  would  have  presented  a 
more  beaten  track.  Whichever  way  they  took,  the 
driver  assured  them  that  they  would  reach  Buttevant 
by  sunset,  “ God'willing,  and  barring  accident.” 

As  they  descended,  therefore,  from  their  carriage, 
they  ordered  a chaise  and  horses  for  Gaul  Bally,  to 
be  ready  against  their  return  from  the  Rock.* 

“ Certainly,  sir,”  said  the  landlord,!  slightly  touch- 
ing his  hat,  and  resuming  his  conversation  with  a 
man-of-business-looking  person,  who  was  talking  to 
him  at  the  door.  “ Barney,  a chaise  on  to  Gaul  Bally.” 
Barney,  having  taken  due  time  to  consume  a por- 
tion of  tobacco,  called  out  in  his  turn  to  a driver  near 
him,  “Tim,  honey,  just  call  out  a chay  to  Gaul  Bally.” 
Tim,  who  was  seated  on  the  steps  of  a horse-post, 
playing  with  a large  dog,  addressed  himself  to  a blind 
beggar,  with  “ Step  into  the  yard,  and  tell  Corney 
Doolin  a chay’s  wanting  to  Gaul  Bally.” 

“ What  is  the  distance  to  Gaul  Bally  ?”  asked  the 
Commodore,  who,  as  well  as  his  fellow-traveller,  had 
observed  the  progress  of  these  deputed  orders  with 
impatience  and  irritation. 

“ What  is  the  distance  to  Gaul  Bally  ?”  returned 
the  landlord  with  sang-froid,  as  he  now  first  observed 
them : “ upon  my  word  and  reputation,  sir,  I can’t 

* The  Rock  of  Cashel,  the  romantic  site  of  its  cathedral. 

f As  inns,  in  common  with  the  royal  caravanseras  of  the  east- 
ern apologue,  are  subject  to  a frequent  change  of  masters,  it  is 
probable  that  some  such  revolution  has  occurred  at  the  inn  at 
Cashel  since  these  events  took  place  : at  least,  the  author  has  no 
reason  to  charge  its  present  occupants  with  incivility. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


69 


Bay — -that  is  really, — Gaul  Bally.  Barney,  can  you 
answer  these  gentlemen  ?” 

“ Och,  sir,  shure  you  don’t  post  to  Gaul  Bally  at  all, 
at  all : there’s  no  posting  there,  sir,  nor  wasn’t  many 
a year.  If  the  gentlemen  bes  going  to  Doneraile  or 
Buttevant,  they’d  best  go  the  low  road,  and  take  the 
Glen  of  Agherlow  to  Mitchelstown.” 

“ We  are  resolved  not  to  take  any  road  but  that 
we’ve  fixed  on ; and  I suppose  we  can  have  a chaise 
and  horses  to  what  stage  and  place  we  choose,  no 
matter  where,  if  we  pay  for  them.” 

This  observation,  made  with  haughtiness  and  petu- 
lance by  Mr.  De  Yere,  induced  the  landlord  to  un- 
cover his  head,  and  to  reply : “ Certainly,  sir  : if  you 
indemnify  me,  sir,  I can  let  you  have  every  accom- 
modation in  life ; up  to  the  top  of  Mangerton,  if  you 
please  ; only  there  is  no  posting,  I give  you  my  word, 
gentlemen,  on  these  cross  roads  in  Munster  : that  is, 
I don’t  send  out  my  cattle  by  the  mile ; but  you  can 
have  them  by  the  job,  or  day,  and  welcome.” 

“ Why,  then,  job  or  day,”  said  Barney,  with  a sig- 
nificant look  at  his  master,  “ if  the  chay  goes  by  Gaul 
Bally,  it’s  on  a low-backed  car  it  will  come  back.” 

“ Shure  enough,”  said  Tim,  rubbing  round  his 
shoulders,  “ and  wouldn’t  care  to  be  the  driver,  bar- 
ring I was  well  ped,  and  left  my  throat  behind  me, 
specially  near  Kilbalogue,  the  thieves’  wood,  down 
there  below.” 

“ I came  that  way  in  my  gig  from  Kilfinnon ,”  said 
the  man  of  business,  “ and  found  it  good  enough,  and 
two  dragoons  with  me.” 

“ Och,  then,  it  behoves  you,  and  the  likes  of  you, 
Mr.  Fogarty,”  said  Tim,  “to  look  to  that,  sir;  for  the 


70 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


times  never  ran  so  hard  against  the  excise  as  now : 
in  respect  of  bringing  down  the  military,  and  the 
grate  still-hunting,  and  fining  the  townlands  to  ruina- 
tion. ” 

“ Will  you  take  the  chay  on  to  Buttevant,  gentle- 
men ?”  asked  the  innkeeper. 

“ To  Buttevant,  certainly  — perhaps  further,”  re- 
plied the  younger  traveller. 

“ I don’t  think  I could  give  it  under  seven  or  eight 
guineas  a day,”  he  returned,  musing ; “ but  I’ll  let 
you  know  in  a minute ;”  and  he  entered  the  house, 
followed  by  Tim,  Barney,  and  the  exciseman,  to  hold 
a council. 

“ Eight  guineas  a day ! sorrow  send  it  to  you,  Mr. 
Collogon  ! — eight  guineas ! Dioul ! !” 

This  apostrophe  was  made  by  a person  who  leaned 
against  the  back  of  the  strangers  chaise.  He  was 
wrapped  in  a huge  frieze  coat,  wore  a slouched  hat 
over  a grey  wig,  and  stood  slashing  a long  cutting 
■whip  against  the  pavement.  When,  however,  he 
perceived  the  travellers  proceeded  towards  the  Rock 
of  Cashel  without  noticing  him,  he  followed  them, 
touched  his  hat,  and  said,  “ I’ll  drive  your  honors  to 
Buttevant,  and  that  to  your  hearts’  contint,  for  half 
the  money,  and  has  as  illigant  a chay,  and  as  nate  a 
pair  of  mountain  cattle  as  any  in  Condon’s  country  ; 
and  keeps  myself,  your  honor,  hard  by,  convanient 
to  Buttevant,  near  Kilcolman,  sir,  and  runs  my  ga- 
rans  on  my  own  account,  and  came  with  a fare  to 
Cashel,  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  was  waiting 
for  a return,  your  honor,  which  would  sarve  me  en- 
tirely, sir.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


71 


“ Do  you  know  the  route  well  through  the 

Galtees  ?” 

“Do  I,  is  it,  sir?  Och!  maybe  I don’t,  and  would 
go  it  my  lone  blindfold  from  Galtimore  to  Mizen- 
head;  and  from  Knockmelldown  to  the  Reeks  in 
Killarney ; and  that’s  a brave  step,  sir.” 

“ I should  like  to  disappoint  that  nonchalant  host 
of  the  Star,  and  his  imposing  driver,”  said  the  elder 
traveller. 

“ And  this  man  residing  near  Kilcolman,”  said  the 
younger,  “ has  a classical  interest  with  me.  I shall 
probably  engage  him  while  I reside  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Spenser’s  fairy  ground.” 

The  bargain  was  instantly  made,  and  the  chaise 
ordered  to  be  at  the  inn-door  in  half  an  hour,  the 
time  assigned  to  visit  King  Cormac’s  Chapel. . Mean- 
time, the  master  of  the  Kilcolman  chaise  undertook 
to  inform  the  host  of  the  Star  that  his  horses  would 
not  be  wanting;  and  when  the  travellers  returned 
from  their  antiquarian  visit  they  found  all  ready  for 
their  departure. 

While  the  light  luggage  was  removing  into  the 
new  vehicle,  the  appearance  of  that  vehicle,  its 
horses  and  driver,  was  a source  of  affected  entertain- 
ment to  the  disappointed  landlord  and  his  satellites. 

“ Barney,  that’s  a nate  article  of  a chay,”  observed 
Tim.  “Troth,  I would  not  wonder  if  it  was  ould 
Cormac  MacColeman’s  travelling  landau  when  he 
went  the  pilgrimage  to  Holycross.” 

“ Faith,  Tim,  lad,  you’re  not  much  out,  I believe ; 
for  there’s  a crown  on  it,  shure  enough,  which  shows, 
it  belonged  to  th’  ould  kings  of  Munster,  anyhow 
King  Fiann  or  Brian  Borru,  maybe.” 


72 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT, 


“ Why,  then,  for  all  that,  Barney,  I wisht  I had  all 
the  chickens  that  ever  was  hatched  in  it,  grand  as  it 
is.  And  look  at  the  garans*  sir ; och ! but  they’re 
grate  bastes  and  warranted  not  to  draw.  I’ll  engage 
they’d  rather  die  than  run,  and  no  ways  skittish, 
that’s  certain,  anyway.” 

The  owner  of  this  equipage,  against  which  so  many 
sarcasms  were  launched,  was  hitherto  coolly  rubbing 
down  his  horses  with  a wisp  of  straw,  and  singing, 
or  rather  humming, 

“ I’m  a rake  and  a rambling  boy, 

My  lodgings  ’tis  near  Aughnaghcloy.” 

He  now  paused,  however,  to  observe,  “ The  cattle’s 
shurely  not  so  fine  as  them  was  shot  in  the  mail,  near 
Kihvorth,  Mr.  Barney  Hefiernan,  but  they  are  good 
mountain  cattle,  for  all  that,  and  will  take  the  gentle- 
men better  through  the  Galtees,  and  safer  too,  than 
handsomer  bastes,  plaze  Jasus  !” 

The  former  part  of  this  observation  had  caused  a 
very  obvious  revulsion  in  the  color  of  Mr.  Hefiernan’s 
face,  who,  drawing  some  straws  from  between  the 
wheels  of  the  chaise,  said,  in  a conciliating  voice, 
“ I’m  glad  to  see  you  about  the  world  again,  Owny— 
when  did  you  set  up  driver  ?” 

“A  little  after  the  tithe-proctor’s  business  in  the 
murdering  glen  below,  in  the  county  of  Waterford,” 
replied  Owny,  significantly. 

Barney  Hefiernan  slunk  away,  and  no  further  sar- 
casm was  launched  against  Owny’s  “ set-out ,”  which 
both  the  gentlemen  stood  for  some  minutes  examin- 
ing with  curiosity ; the  Commodore  wiping  with  his 
* Poor  hack  horses. 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


73 


handkerchief  the  dust  from  the  panel  on  which  the 
coronet,  alluded  to  by  the  drivers,  was  visible,  sur- 
mounting a defaced  crest  and  armorial  bearing.  The 
chaise  was  indeed  of  a very  singular  and  antique 
build;  low,  angular,  with  a projecting  roof.  The 
large  windows,  which  once  perhaps  entitled  it  to  the 
appellation  of  a glass  coach,  were  now  partly  filled  up 
with  wooden  panels ; and  through  the  rents  of  the 
coarse  check  modern  lining,  remnants  of  crimson 
velvet,  and  rich,  but  threadbare,  livery  lace,  spoke 
its  former  gentility.  The  travellers  had  proceeded 
some  miles  from  Cashel,  in  a silence  which  the 
younger  seemed  little  inclined  to  break,  when  the* 
falling  down  of  an  old  green  silk  blind  roused  him 
from  his  reverie. 

“ This  curious  old  vehicle,”  he  observed,  “ doubtless 
belonged  to  some  noble  family.  Did  you  perceive  a 
baron’s  coronet  on  the  side  panel,  and  a crest  beneath 
it?” 

Yes,  a dexter  arm,  issuing  out  of  a cloud,  and 
holding  a naked  sword,  all  proper,  with  the  motto, 
Vigueur  de  dessus — the  cognizance  and  motto  of  some 
N orman  adventurer,  who  formerly  ravished  this  coun- 
try, and  who,  like  more  modern  victors,  took  the 
sanction  of  heaven  for  their  deeds  of  violence,  and 
believed,  or  affected  to  believe,  that,  “Dim  est 
toujour s 'pour  les  gros  bataillons .” 

“ It  is  the  motto  and  crest  of  the  Fitzadelm  family, 
of  the  present  Marquis  of  Dunore,  the  representative 
of  that  family,”  said  de  Vere. 

A silence  of  a few  minutes  followed  this  observa- 
tion, and  the  Commodore  then  carelessly  added — 
“ The  Fitzadelms ! a branch  of  the  far-spreading 


74 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Geraldines?  Yes,  they  got  their  portion  of  this  fair 
province  by  grant  from  Henry  the  Second,  to  whom 
they  were  sewers,  as  the  Ormond  family  were  butlers ; 
and  shared  with  Hamo  de  Valois,  Philip  of  Wor- 
cester, William  de  Barri,  and  other  Norman  adven- 
turers, the  princely  palatinates  of  the  Macarthies 
More,  once  chiefs  or  kings  of  Desmond.” 

“ It  is  in  the  order  of  things,”  said  de  Vere  coolly. 

“ Oh ! exactly ; the  1 vigueur  de  dessusj  which  may 
be  translated  c might,  not  right,’  has  been  the  same 
in  all  ages ; but  it  is  peculiarly  prominent  in  the  con- 
quest of  Ireland ; the  causes  of  Ireland’s  misfortunes 
’are  so  deep-seated,  that  every  page  in  her  history  is 
a palliation  of  her  faults : for  the  gravest  errors  of 
the  people  will  be  found  in  the  misrule  of  her  gov- 
ernment.” 

“ Better  governed,  she  would  be  more  prosperous,” 
said  the  young  traveller,  “ and  less  interesting  and 
less  amusing.  As  it  is,  she  is  c melancholy  and  gen- 
tlemanlike,’ a thing  to  make  one  laugh  and  cry  in  a 
breath.” 

“ Them  is  the  Galtees,  plaze  your  honor,”  said  the 
driver,  “ among  the  clouds.  There,  sir,  not  a moun- 
tain in  the  province  will  bate  them,  anyhow,  let  alone 
Mangerton.” 

“ They  are,  indeed,  truly  respectable  mountains  for 
this  little  island,”  said  the  young  traveller,  directing 
his  glance  to  a range  of  bold,  romantic,  perpendicular 
acclivities,  whose  conic  pinnacles  were  lost  in  the 
clouds,  and  whose  dark  stupendous  range  might 
have  formed  a natural  and  impregnable  boundary  be- 
tween rival  and  contending  states. 

At  the  village  of  Gaul  Bally  they  found  only  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


75 


ruins  of  some  religious  houses,  a barrack,  and  a little 
shebeen  house,  where  the  driver  stopped  for  a few 
minutes  to  refresh  his  horses  and  himself.  They  soon 
recommenced  their  mountain  journey,  doubling  a 
formidable  ridge,  and  ascending  a gentle  acclivity, 
while  the  driver,  almost  throwing  the  reins  upon  the 
horses’  necks,  sat  with  his  arms  folded,  and  recom- 
menced, for  the  twentieth  time  since  they  had  left 
Cashel, 

“ The  groves  of  Blarney,  they  are  so  charming.” 

“ This  will  never  do,”  said  the  Commodore,  letting 
down  the  front  glass.  “ Why,  my  friend,  your  horses 
seem  tired  already.” 

“ They  do,  plaze  yer  honor,”  was  the  cool  reply. 
“And  do  you  know  the  raison  of  that  same,  sir? 
Why,  then,  it’s  because  they’re  on  level  ground,  sir, 
sorrow  a fhing  else  ails  them.  Och  ! the  craturs  are 
kind  andHazy,  like  myself,  and  quite  untractable  to  a 
smooth  level  plain ; but  wrait  till,  yez  gets  up  among 
the  glens  and  precipices.  It’s  then,  sir,  you  wrill  see 
them  bate  the  reg’lar  posters,  why ! entirely ; for  they 
knows  the  wa  rs  of  the  place,  and  little  fear  for  the 
chay  being  left  in  smithereens,*  on  the  top  of  a rock, 
there,  or  at  the  bottom  of  that  hollow,  down  in  the 
Divil’s  Glin  to  your  lift,  sir.” 

“ It’s  very  evident,”  said  the  Commodore,  “that 
this  fellowr  is  as  untractable  as  his  horses.  There  is  a 
dogged  indifference  about  him,  a good-humored  per- 
tinacity of  manner,  with  wdiich  it  would  clearly  be  in 
vain  to  contend ; it  were  best,  therefore,  to  leave  him 
to  his  song  and  his  waywardness.” 

* Smithereens ; i.  e*  fragments. 


76 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ Oh ! I hold  no  contention  with  travelling  contin- 
gencies,” replied  De  Yere;  “ through  life,  as  through 
a journey,  the  1 Laissez-aller'  is  my  device.  Who 
would  take  the  trouble,  if  even  willing,  when  a pebble 
under  your  chaise  wheel  may  set  volition  at  nought  ? 
Who  would  contend  with  accidents  and  events,  un- 
certain and  incalculable  as  the  elements  on  which  they 
so  often  depend  ?” 

“ This  is  a fine  road,  your  honors,”  said  the  driver, 
breaking  off  his  song  abruptly,  and  applying  his  re- 
mark to  a rude,  rough,  narrow  acclivity,  moss-grown 
and  torrent-worn,  and  becoming  every  moment  more 
difficult  of  ascent.  “ Balleagh-na-Tierna  ’tis  called,  in 
respect  of  being  cut  across  the  side  of  the  Galtees  by 
the  Tierna-Dhu,  that  is  the  Black  Baron,  as  they 
named  him  in  his  own  country  here  below.” 

“ Black  Baron  !”  said  De  Yere;  “that  sounds  w^ell 
among  these  wild  scenes.  Does  the  Black  Baron  live 
in  these  mountains,  friend  ?” 

“ He  does,  sir ; that’s  he  did,  but  he’s  dead,  sir,  and 
doing  bravely  these  twenty  years  and  more,  and  so  is 
his  brother  Tierna-Ruadh,  the  Red  Baron,  that  fol- 
lowed him,  whose  son  is  now  the  Marquis  Dunore ! 
divil  set  his  foot  after  them  all,  for  it’s  little  good  ever 
they  did  the  country  yet,  them  Fitzadelms !”  (5.) 

The  two  travellers,  as  if  moved  by  the  same  mecha- 
nical impulse,  started,  leaned  forward,  and  then  sunk 
back  in  the  chaise — “ At  least,”  said  the  elder,  “ it  was 
doing  good  to  cut  a road  through  this  wild  region, 
friend.” 

“Sorrow  much  then,  sir,  anyhow;  in  respect  of 
never  finishing  it,  no  more  nor  that  inn  there,  fore- 
nent  you  to  the  left.”  Here  the  driver  pointed  to  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


77 


ruins  of  some  dreary  walls,  whicli  added  to  the  deso- 
lateness of  the  scene. 

“ This  Balleagh,  I heard  tell,  was  to  join  the  low 
road,  and  was  made  in  a great  hurry,  to  have  a short 
cut  for  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  the  quality  that 
came  down  in  oceans  from  Dublin  to  the  stage  plays 
at  Court  Fitzadelm ; and  the  inn  was  to  bait  at ; for, 
barring  Lis-na-sleugh,  sorrow  baiting  place  in  the 
Galtees  at  all,  at  all ; and  that  was  no  place  for  quality 
to  stop  in.” 

“ What  an  heterogeneous  association  of  images  !” 
said  the  Commodore;  “ mountain  regions  and  private 
theatricals  ! A poor  Irish  lord  beginning  a work  fit 
for  an  emperor,  and  leaving  it  unfinished,  a monu- 
ment of  his  uncalculating  extravagance,  of  that  wild- 
ness and  refinement,  that  uncivilized  dissipation,  which 
characterized  the  provincial  nobility  of  Ireland  fifty 
years  back,  and  arose  from  the  degradation  in  which 
they  were  held.” 

“ Oh,  it’s  delicious  !”  replied  De  Yere.  “I  should 
like  to  know  how  the  descendant  or  representative 
of  these  noble  Fitzadelms  would  feel,  in  thus  acci- 
dentally hearing  what  we  have  now  heard,  and  seeing 
what  we  see.” 

“ If  he  was  a vain  man,  flattered  and  spoiled  by 
fortune,”  replied  the  Commodore,  emphatically,  “ he 

would  feel  deep  mortification ; but  if  he  were” he 

paused  abruptly,  and  demanded  of  the  driver : “Does 
Court  Fitzadelm  lie  in  the  neighborhood  of  these 
mountains  ?” 

“ It  does,  sir,  fifteen  miles  off,  in  the  valley,  down 
below,  between  the  Galtees  and  Gotroes,  and  the  Bal- 
li-Howries,  cribbed  round  with  them,  and  the  beauti- 


78 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ful  Avon  Florae,  or  ‘ fair  water,’  running  under  the 
castle  bawn, — that's  all  that’s  left  of  it,  sir.  For  sure 
after  the  lord’s  death,  it  was  broken  up  into  smithe- 
reens, and  scarce  a skreed*  of  it  left  to  the  fore.” 

“ And  who  has  carried  it  away  ?”  asked  De  Vere. 

“ Why,  Darby  Crawley  has,  sir,  and  his  father  be- 
fore him,  ould  Pat ; and  hasn’t  left  a taste,  but  what’s 
in  their  own  hands  this  day.  And  the  chay  your 
honor’s  driving  in,  shure  it  was  from  him  ’twas  bought, 
at  the  auction.  Troth,  and  if  the  young  lord  that  got 
the  title,  or  his  brother  was  in  it,  they’d  be  entirely 
amazed  to  see  their  crown  and  arms  running  the  road 
this  day,  that’s  the  Galtees,  sir.” 

To  this  observation  the  travellers  made  no  rejoinder. 
The  horses  now  toiled  slowly  and  painfully  up  a road 
which  every  moment  became  more  steep  and  laborious. 
On  either  side,  the  mountain  scenery  opened  into  in- 
creasing wildness  and  sublimity.  Innumerable  defiles 
boldly  diverged  to  ascending  regions,  while  altitudes 
still  greater,  blue,  misty,  and  cloud-capped,  terminated 
these  natural  vistas.  The  ascent  had  now  become  so 
steep  and  dangerous,  that  the  travellers  had  not  only 
alighted,  but  were  frequently  obliged  to  assist  in  lift- 
ing the  chaise  over  deep  ruts,  cut  by  the  torrents,  but 
which  the  driver  simply  called  “ sore  bits.”  He  fre- 
quently assured  them  that  a little  further  on,  a small 
quarter  of  a mile,  the  lord’s  Balleagh  would  come 
down  upon  the  Cloghniah-Cluain,  the  “ lurking  place 
of  the  noisy  water”  (a  torrent  he  affected  every  mo- 
ment to  hear),  and  then  they  would  be  upon  the  low 
road,  which  would  bring  them  on  the  high  posting 
road  to  Doneraile  and  Buttevant. 

♦ Skreed,  a rag  or  morsel. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


79 


Obliged  to  pin  their  faith  upon  a guide  of  whom 
they  now  began  to  entertain  seme  suspicion,  the 
travellers  beheld  one  small  quarter  of  a mile  succeed 
to  another,  and  heard  and  lost  repeatedly  the  fall  of 
many  dashing  torrents,  until,  as  they  ascended  among 
the  romantic  elevations  of  the  Galtees,  they  lost  sight 
of  the  inconvenience  and  tediousness  of  their  journey, 
in  admiration  of  the  scenery.  They  even  permitted 
the  horses  to  halt  in  a narrow  glen,  while  they  pro- 
ceeded to  examine  regions,  where  nature  reigned  in 
all  her  wildest  magnificence  ; and  they  ascended  from 
one  commanding  altitude  to  another,  till  th$  whole 
stupendous  chain  of  mountains  broke  gradually  upon 
them,  spreading  far  and  wide  in  bold  fantastic  forms, 
and  in  the  utmost  freedom  of  outline. 

As  the  travellers  stood  thus  occupied  at  the  point 
of  a bold  cliff,  they  suddenly  perceived  a shadow 
thrown  from  their  precipitous  station,  intercepting 
the  blood  red  beams  of  the  now  setting  sun,  and 
turning  quickly  round,  they  observed  a man  so  close 
to  them,  that  by  a single  effort  he  might  have  hurled 
the  incautious  wanderers  down  the  abyss  they  had,  a 
moment  before,  shuddered  to  contemplate.  He  had 
a bold,  strongly  defined,  but  light  and  flexible  figure, 
not  much  set  off  by  a ragged  frieze  jacket : his  neck 
was  scarcely  covered  by  a loosely  tied  red  handker- 
chief. In  his  countenance  there  was  a look  of  min- 
gled carelessness  and  intrepidity,  of  gaiety  and  acute- 
ness, which  is  so  often  discernible  in  the  Irish  physiog- 
nomy. His  hat  worn  gallantly  on  one  side,  his  light 
arch  blue  eye  and  curly  hair,  gave  to  his  whole  ap- 
pearance something  of  rustic  foppery,  mingled  \rifh 
an  hardy  daringness,  that  was  peculiarly  chara$Pms- 


80 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


tic.  This  unexpected  apparition  in  a scene  so  lonely, 
amazed  without  alarming  the  travellers.  When  the 
man  asked,  with  a sort  of  triumphant  laugh,  “ Doesn’t 
your  honors  know  me,  then?  Shure,  a’nt  I your 
driver,  sirs,  that  drove  you  from  Cashel  in  the  Kil- 
coleman  chay,  below,  in  the  hollow  there.” 

This  information  rather  increased  than  lessened  the 
surprise  his  appearance  excited.  “ Only,”  he  conti- 
nued, “ that  I threw  off  my  cotamore*  in  regard  of 
the  heat and  wishing  to  climb  the  mountain  after 
you,  I changed  my  old  wig  and  caubeen  for  this  bit  of 
a straw  hat,  sir,  that  I keeps  under  the  chay  sate  for 
warm  weather,  why.” 

“ But  with  such  a profusion  of  hair,  why  do  you 
wear  a wig  ?”  asked  the  Commodore. 

“ Och ! becaise,  your  honor,  it  was  my  ould  father’s 
before  me,  sir,f — God  rest  him” — and  he  crossed  him- 
self devoutly. 

This  mode  of  accounting  for  a disguise,  more  of 
air  and  manner,  even  than  of  dress,  amused,  but  by 
no  means  satisfied  the  travellers ; and  secretly  con- 
vinced that  he  had  some  motive  for  concealing  his 
person  in  Cashel,  they  accompanied  him  in  silence 
back  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left  the  chaise  and 
horses.  As  they  descended  the  declivities,  De  Yere 
observed,  “ This  is  what  Shakespeare  calls  1 a fine, 
gay,  bold-faced  villain:’  I should  like  to  know  his 
object  in  bewildering  us  in  these  mountains.” 

* Great  coat.  The  cotaigh  was  the  upper  garment  anciently. 

f This  reason  the  author  has  often  heard  assigned  by  the 
young  Irish  for  covering  their  natural  locks  with  an  old  scratch 
wig.  Fine  hair,  however,  is  a national  beauty,  and  an  article 
commerce.  The  females  exchange  their  tresses  with 
peddlers  for  trinkets  and  ribbons. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


81 


<l  If  he  has  any,”  replied  the  Commodore,  careless- 
ly, “ it  must  soon  discover  itself.” 

On  reaching  the  hollow,  they  were  surprised  and 
mortified  to  find  that  the  daylight,  which  still  linger- 
ed in  tints  of  purple  and  gold  on  the  summits  of  the 
mountains,  had  faded  away  from  their  valleys. 

“ Yez  may  step  in  now,  gentlemen,”  said  the  driver : 
“ we  have  a smooth  piece  afore  us  for  half  a mile,  and 
then  we  turn  into  Cloghnaigh-Cluain,  and  will  he  on 
the  top  of  Doneraile  in  no  time.” 

“We  are  quite  aware  that  is  utterly  impossible,” 
said  the  Commodore,  decisively,  as  he  got  into  the 
chaise ; “ but  go  on  as  rapidly  as  possible ; we  should 
not  like  to  be  benighted  in  these  mountains  ; indeed, 
we  are  resolved  not  to  be  so.” 

“ Och ! sorrow  fear,  your  honor,  anyhow,  of  that 
shure : isn’t  there  an  illegant  fine  moon  ? and  if  the 
worst  goes  to  the  worst,  is  not  there  the  mountain- 
house  Lis-na-sleugh , at  the  foot  of  the  Galtees,  and 
the  best  of  entertainment  there  for  man  and  baste.” 

“ No,”  replied  the  Commodore  in  the  same  tone  of 
cool  decision,  “we  must  reach  Doneraile  or  Butte- 
vant  to-night,  except  we  ourselves  change  our  minds, 
as  we  proceed.” 

“ Which  we  shall  not  do,”  whispered  his  compa- 
nion, “ and  yet,  perhaps,  shall  be  necessitated  to  take 
up  our  night’s  abode  in  this  mountain-house  he 
talks  of.” 

They  had  in  the  course  of  an  hour  reached  the  long 
promised  turn  to  Cloghnaigh-Cluain : but  the  road, 
though  it  was  a rapid  descent,  far  from  improving, 
became  every  moment  more  impracticable,  as  the 
twilight  grew  more  obscure.  The  driver,  at  last, 


82 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


after  a violent  jolt,  which  threatened  dislocation  to 
the  joints  of  the  crazy  vehicle,  suddenly  stopped  his- 
horses,  and  coming  up  to  the  chaise  window,  asked, 

“ Yez  would  not  have  such  a thing  as  a crooked  nail 
about  ye,  plaze  your  honors  ?” 

The  Commodore  replied  in  the  negative,  half 
laughingly,  though  with  feelings  of  annoyance,  arising 
partly  from  suspicion  of  the  man’s  intentions,  and  > 
partly  from  impatience  of  delay  in  such  a place,  and 
at  such  a time. 

u Why  then,  murther  alive,  -what’s  this  for  ?”  ex- 
claimed the  driver,  scratching  his  head ; “ the  fore 
wheel  oft^  and  not  a bit  of  a nail  for  a lineh  pin ; and 
the  spring  broke,  too,  and  not  a taste  of  rope  to  tie  it 
up  with.” 

“ This  is  a pleasant  adventure,”  said  the  younger 
traveller,  throwing  himself  back  in  the  chaise ; while 
the  elder  jumping  out,  examined  into  the  accident  : — 
the  spring  was  broken,  the  wheel  was  off. 

“ This  is  no  accident,”  he'said,  turning  abruptly  to- 
the  driver : “ the  Finch  pin  of  this  wheel  has  been 
drawn  out  purposely.” 

“ It  has,  sir?”  he  reiterated  with  simplicity.  “ See 
that,  now ! why  then,  I wonder  who  would  be  after 
doing  that  same ; if  it  wouldn’t  be  your  honors,  out 
of  sport,  sir.  But  sorrow  much  matter,  anyhow ; I'd 
as  soon  drive  your  honors  with  three  wheels  as  four, 
and  did  from  Cork  to  Kil worth  : that’s  Father  Mur- 
phy, sir;  and  the  wheel  will  just  slip  in  the  front  of 
the  chay,  fair  and  aisy,  I’ll  be  bound. 

“ But  that’s  not  the  worst  of  it,”  he  continued  coolly, 
endeavoring  to  force  the  wheel  into  the  chaise  on  one 
side,  while  Mr,  Be  Vere  jumped  out  at  the  other; 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


I « we've  taken  the  wrong  turn,  it  seems,  entirely ; for 
that  Cloghnaigh  bates  the  world,  in  respect  of  con- 
trariness ; and  when  I thought  we  were  in  on  it,  isnit 
it  here  the  ‘ wolf’s  track’  we’ve  slipped  into  ? Dioul !” 
“ You  are  to  remember,”  said  the  Commodore, 
^vhile  his  companion  was  enjoying  a rapid  combina- 
tim  of  every  real,  fancied,  or  possible  danger,  “ you 
I aid  us  you  were  well  acquainted  with  the  road  ?” 
And  if  I wasn’t,  your  honor,  how  would  I know 
that  this  is  the  wolfs  track  ? Och,  musha  ! the  likes 
of  this  never  happened  to  me  before.  Ochone ! 
here’s  your  purse,  sir,  dear,  dropped  in  the  hay and 
he  carelessly  threw  the  purse,  weighty  from  contain- 
ing some  golden  Spanish  coin,  into  the  traveller’s 
hand;  he  then  continued  his  lamentation  over  his  mis- 
take, at  the  same  Lime  endeavoring  to  thrust  the  fore 
wheel  of  the  chaise  through  one  of  its  doors.  From 
his  tone  of  voice,  peculiarity  of  manner,  and  the  care- 
lessness with  which  he  restored  a purse,  that  in  all 
probability  would  not  have  been  missed,  every  suspi- 
| cion  of  sinister  intention  was  hushed  in  the  mind  of 
i the  Commodore.  The  younger  traveller,  however, 
saw  only  in  the  latter  circumstance  some  ruse,  beyond 
the  ordinary  stratagem  of  a common  robber;  and 
whether  he  was  to  be  enrolled  among  a band  of  Shan- 
1 avests,  or  stripped  and  plundered  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Caravats,  were  circumstances  debated  in  his  mind, 
under  the  influence  of  many  romantic  associations  ap- 
propriate to  the  scene  and  hour.  Meantime,  as  the 
driver  assured  them,  that  though  they  had  not  taken 
the  best  or  the  shortest  road,  they  were  still  making 
their  way  out  of  the  mountains,  they  continued  to 
walk  in  advance  of  the  chaise,  without  further  re- 


84 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


proach ; while  the  driver,  leading  his  horses,  reconi-  f 
menced  his  song,  which  he  only  interrupted  to  point 
"cmt  a stone  cross  under  the  cliff,  that  he  called  the 
“ Hag’s  Bed;”  and  to  notice  some  other  features  in 
the  scene,  characteristic  of  its  wildness;  thus  evincing  9 
that  his  boasted  acquaintance  with  the  mountains  f 
was  not  an  unfounded  vaunt. 

With  that  sudden  change  of  temperature  incident® 
to  mountain  regions,  the  air  had  become  intensely 
cold ; and  through  the  increasing  darkness  of  the  evtki- 
ing,  they  hailed  with  pleasure  a long  level  ray  iof 
light,  which  assured  them  of  their  approximation  to 
some  human  abode;  perhaps  a forge,  where  they 
might  have  their  chaise  wheel  reinstated ; and  they 
suggested  this  possibility  to  the  driver.  “ A forge,” 
he  replied,  “ then  that’s  the  great  luck,  for  if  there’s  a 
forge,  ye  can  put  the  night  over  at  Lis-na-sleugh : 
there’s  not  a forge  in  the  Galtees  round,  barring  the 
forge  of  Lis-na-sleugh,  where  there’s  the  best  of  fine 
entertainment,  as  I hear  tell,  that’s  if  the  chay  can’t 
be  mended,  and  yez  don't  care  to  get  on  by  moonlight 
to  Buttevant,  which  yez  may  after  all,  plaze  God.” 

As  they  proceeded,  the  light  had  frequently  ap- 
peared and  disappeared ; but  as  their  descent  became 
less  rapid,  and  they  advanced  more  deeply  into  the 
valley,  it  assumed  a more  steady  beam ; and  the  out- 
line of  a small  building  became  visible,  amidst  a mass 
of  darkly  defined  objects.  On  approaching  they  per- 
ceived it  was  a little  sash  window,  which  emitted  the 
red  light  of  a blazing  turf  fire  ; and  a volume  pf  white 
curling  smoke,  issuing  from  an  aperture  in  the  roof, 
stained  the  deep  dark  blue  of  the  atmosphere  with 
fleecy  forms.  The  moon  just  showed  her  edge  above 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


85 


the  horizon,  and  more  strongly  defined  the  position 
of  the  building,  which  occupied  part  of  a little  plain, 
f forming  a point  of  termination  to  four  cross-roads, 
^ branching  off  round  the  base  of  the  mountains.  Those 
they  had  crossed  appeared  to  rise  almost  to  the  clouds 
f behind  them;  and  of  the  many  waterfalls  which 
dashed  from  the  neighboring  rocks,  one  fell  close  to 
^he  rear  of  the  cottage,  dwindling  into  a rill,  and 
forming  a little  horse-pool  in  its  front.  A light  under 
a shed  at  a short  distance  showed  some  horses  feed- 
ing. A bunch  of  mountain  heather  suspended  over 
the  door,  but,  above  all,  a post-chaise  drawn  up  be- 
fore it  (which  seemed,  by  its  position,  to  have  re- 
cently arrived  by  one  of  the  low  roads),  designated 
this  wild  and  remote  edifice  as  an  inn.  This  idea  was 
confirmed  by  a smar^  crack  of  the  whip,  with  which 
the  driver  brought  up  his  weary  horses,  and  by  his 
taking  off  his  hat  to  the  gentlemen,  and  exclaiming, 
with  a courteous  bow  : 

“ Why,  then,  long  life  to  yez ! yez  are  welcome  to 
Lis-na-sleugh !” 

“ So,”  said  De  Yere,  “I  thought  so.  This,  how- 
ever, is  wizard  scenery,  and  one  may  compound  for 
a little  inconvenience  or  even  danger  to  enjoy  it.” 

The  approach  of  the  carriage  had  brought  out  from 
the  ahed,  which  served  as  a stable,  a lame  beggar, 
who  officiated  as  hostler,  and  a ragged  boy,  who  ap- 
peared as  the  substitute  for  a waiter. 

“ Here,  baccah  mavourneen,”*  said  the  driver,  who 
was  now  once  more  muffled  in  his  cotamore,  his  wig, 
and  old  caubeen.  “Take  off  them  cattle  for  me, 

* Baccah,  a cripple.  All  lame  and  deformed  beggars  are 
called  baccahs  in  Ireland. 


86 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


while  I show  the  gentleman  into  the  place.  Comey 
my  gasso.on,  lend  me  the  rush,”  and  he  snatched  the 
light  out  of  the  boy’s  hand.  “ This  way,  your  ho- 
nors ; take  care  of  the  sow,  sir ; there’s  a bit  of  a 
strame,  sir.  Widow  Gaffney,  Ma’am,  where  are  you 
agrah  ? Oh  ! here’s  the  mistress  herself.  I’ll  trouble. 
Ma’am,  to  look  after  the  gentlemen,  while  I give  a 
squint  at  th’  other  bastes.” 

The  hostess  took  the  light  from  him,  and  he  joined 
the  driver  of  the  newly-arrived  chaise,  who  was  ad- 
journing from  the  house  to  the  stable.  The  Widow  ♦ 
Gaffney,  with  many  smiles  and  courtesies,  led  the 
guests  from  the  dark  little  stone  passage,  which  sepa- 
rated the  kitchen  clouded  with  smoke  from  another 
small  room  distinguished  by  its  plank  flooring,  ex- 
claiming, as  she  moved  before  them,  “ Och ! but  your 
honors  is  welcome,  sirs.  It’s  a sharp  night  to  cross 
the  mountains,  and  will  have  a sod  kindled  in  the 
chimbley,  sirs,  if  yez  are  going  to  stay  past  the  cattle’s 
taking  their  lock  of  hay,  gintlemin.” 

* As  she  spoke  she  lighted,  or  endeavored  to  light,  a 
miserable  candle,  which  stood  in  a dirty  brass  candle- 
stick on  a shelf  over  the  chimney.  While  thus  en- 
gaged, the  yellow  flickering  light  fell  full  on  her  face, 
and  drew  her  sharp,  but  handsome  features,  her  deep 
sallow  complexion,  and  black  bright  eyes,  into  strong 
relief.  A red  kerchief  was  tied  round  her  head  in  the 
Munster  fashion  ; and  the  rest  of  her  tall,  slight,  bony 
form  was  hidden  in  shade.* 

The  strangers  withdrew  their  eyes  from  the  figure 
of  the  landlady  to  the  apartment  into  which  she  had 

* The  old  Irish  head-kerchief  is  almost  universally  worn  by 
the  female  peasantry  of  Munster. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


8? 


ushered  them.  Its  whitewashed  walls  were  partially 
covered  with  those  pious  prints  which  are  hawked 
about  for  sale  in  the  remotest  parts  of  Ireland.  The 
history  of  many  a saint,  the  sufferings  of  many  a 
martyr,  were  here  detailed  in  bright  vermilion  and 
yellow  ochre ; and  angels  and  devils,  hymns  and 
homilies,  were  mingled  promiscuously  with  the  ama- 
tory history  of  “ Cool  endas ,’  “ Croothenamcc the 
“ Connaught  daisy,”  bloody  and  barbarous  murders, 
and  a favorite  song,  called  “ JMa  chere  amie ,”  as  sung 
by  Mrs.  Billington. 

A deal  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  still 
covered  with  some  little  pewter  vessels,  and  two 
glasses  with  wooden  bottoms.  The  hearth  was  stuff- 
ed with  withered  heath ; and  the  atmosphere  of  the 
room,  from  which  all  ventilation  was  excluded,  was 
impregnated  with  the  fumes  of  whiskey.  The 
younger  traveller,  holding  his  perfumed  handkerchief 
to  his  nose,  asked  if  there  was  no  other  apartment 
they  could  occupy,  while  their  horses  were  feeding, 
and  their  chaise  mending* 

“Och!  blessed  Virgin,”  said  the  hostess,  wiping 
down  the  tabic  with  her  apron,  “ this  is  the  con- 
trariest  day  ever  rose  on  me  ! Weeks  we’d  be,  God 
help  us,  and  not  a chay,  or  sign  of  quality  come  the 
road ; and  now,  becaise  it's  the  fair  of  Kiltish,  and  the 
world’s  in  on  upon  us,  here’s  two  po-chaises,  and  not 
a sowl  to  help  me,  only  the  baccah,  and  my  own  little 
garlagh  of  a boy.” 

“ We  should  be  glad  to  go  anywhere,  where  there’s 
a fire,”  said  the  Commodore,  “the  kitchen  for  in- 
stance.” 

“Qch!  your  honor,  that  would  be  a poor  place  for 


88 


FLORENCE  MAC ARTSY. 


the  likes  of  you ; but  if  you  would  demean  yourself 
to  step  into  it,  while  I kindle  a sod  here,  and  ready  the 
place,  and  takes  down  these  brusheens .” 

As  she  now  began  to  raise  a very  unpleasant  dust 
by  removing  the  bushes  from  the  hearth,  the  gentle- 
men walked  at  once  to  the  kitchen. 

The  little  inn  of  Lis-na-sleugh,  or  the  house  of  the 
mountain,  was  the  genuine  type  of  all  such  inns  in  the 
remote  cross-roads,  or  mountain  ways  in  Ireland ; and 
the  kitchen,  as  is  usual  in  such  places,  was  equally  the 
receptacle  of  the  guest  and  the  beggar ; of  those  who 
could,  and  those  who  could  not,  pay  for  a temporary 
shelter.  The  earthen  floor  of  this  hospitable  apart- 
ment was  undulating  and  broken : a low  mud  wall, 
with  an  aperture  in  it  to  see  through,  screened  the  fire- 
place from  the  door ; and  the  capacious  hearth,  lined 
with  a stone  bench,  afforded  a comfortable  retreat  to 
the  chilled  or  wearied  traveller.  It  was  now  occupied 
by  a haggard,  worn-out  looking  person,  who  repeat- 
edly drank  from  a noggin  of  water  beside  him.  Above 
the  bright  clear  fire  of  mountain  turf,  built  upon  the 
floor,  hung  suspended  an  immense  iron  caldron  filled 
with  potatoes,  not  boiling,  but  boiled,  and  drying  (5). 
In  an  angle  of  the  kitchen,  over  a three-legged  table 
and  a little  pewter  vessel  filled  with  whiskey,  sat  two 
travellers;  one  of  them,  by  the  pack  which  lay  at  his 
feet,  a peddler ; the  other,  ill-looking  and  poorly  clad  : 
both  were  earnestly  conversing  in  Irish.  Beside  the 
fire,  on  an  old  settle,  were  seated  two  females:  one 
with  her  long  Irish  frieze  cloak,  and  the  hood  drawn 
over  her  face,  exhibited  her  warmly  mittened  hands 
to  the  fire,  towards  which  she  was  turned.  The  other, 
stately  and  erect,  her  round  figure  covered  in  an  old- 


FLORENCE  MACAItTHIf, 


89 


i* 


fashioned  travelling  cloak,  and  her  head  enveloped  in 
that  curious  coeffure , made  and  called  after  the  head  of 
a French  carriage,  and  not  many  years  back  worn  in 
Ireland  under  the  name  of  a calesh.  From  the  super- 
iority of  their  appearance,  they  were  assigned  by  the 
strangers  to  the  chaise,  which  stood  at  the  door  on 
their  arrival,  and  seemed  just  to  have  preceded  them. 

As  the  gentlemen  stood  before  the  fire  conversing 
in  Spanish  on  the  incidents  of  their  journey,  calculat- 
ing upon  the  probabilities  of  the  future,  and  making 
observations  on  all  that  surrounded  them,  the  widow 
having  lighted  a fire  in  the  best  room,  returned  to 
await  the  dispersion  of  the  smoke  it  occasioned.  She 
leaned  indolently  over  a table,  with  her  hands  wrapped 
in  her  apron,  or,  as  she  called  it,  her  praskeen ; and  she 
cast  a glance  of  curiosity,  directed  alternately  at  her 
guests,  in  anxious  hope  that  they  would  call  for  some 
refreshment.  None,  however,  was  demanded,  until  the 
entrance  of  Owney,  the  driver,  broke  the  spell;  for 
he  addressed  her  with— 

“You  wouldn’t  have  such  a thing  as  a cuppan * of 
parliament  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Gaffney  ?'’ 

“ Och ! then,  if  I w^ould  not  have  that,  what  would 
I have,  sir  ? when  I souled  the  bed  from  under  me  to 
pay  the  license  ; and  would  be  sorry  to  see  the  barony 
fined,  after  the  murther  we  had  in  the  mountains  about 
old  Sullivan’s  still,  last  week,  and  the  waylaying  of  the 
exciseman,  and  two  men  and  one  soger  kilt  in  the 
action.  Since  the  attempt  at  a rescue  made  for  the 
Rabragh,  never  was  known  the  likes  in  the  province 
of  Ulster,  many  a day.” 

Mrs.  Gaffney  was  helping  the  driver  to  a little  ves- 

* Cuppan,  a little  cup.— Parliament,  that  is,  licensed  whiskey. 


90 


FLORENCE  MACARTST. 


gel  of  licensed  whiskey,  which  he  had  termed  a dtp* 
pan  of  parliament,  when  the  ill-looking  man,  who  sat 
tlte-'14Me  with  the  peddler,  asked  : 

“ What’s  gone  of  the  Rabragh,  I wonder.?”  ■ 

“ Och ! sir,  he’s  about  the  world  agaki,  I hear  tell,” 
replied  the  landlady,  “ though  never  saw  him,  ’bove 
all  the  boys  of  the  county.  They  say  the  Ban-Tierna* 
had  him  released  from  prison  last  assizes  twelve- 
month,  and  went  herself  to  the  judges  at  Tipperary, 
in  regard  of  her  being  his  foster-sister.” 

“ Long  may  she  reign,”  exclaimed  the  ill-looking 
man : “ for  she’s  a fine  woman,  and  the  poor  man’s 
friend.  Here’s  may  she  live  a thousand  years,”  and 
he  tossed  off  a glass  of  spirits. 

“ Amen,”  said  the  driver,  moving  his  hat  reveren- 
tially as  he  pledged  the  to&st,  in  a voice  tremulous 
with  emotion. 

“I  drink  to  her  in  water,  wishing  it  was  wine,” 
said  the  poor  man  in  the  chimney  corner : “ for  I 
come  from  the  land  where  her  forefathers  reigned. 
“ Here’s  to  the  Countess  of  Clancare.” 

“ Why,  then,  if  this  were  the  last  drop  I had  in 
the  world,”  said  the  driver,  drawing  his  hat  over  his 
face,  as  he  advanced  in  the  light,  “ you  shall  go  my 
halves  in  it and  he  presented  what  remained  in  his 
cuppan  to  the  water-drinker,  who,  swallowing  it 
eagerly,  observed : 

“ That’s  the  first  bit  or  sup  passed  my  lips  the  day, 
barring  a dry  potato  and  a draught  of  water;  and 
came  all  the  ways  from  the  barony  of  Dunkerron, 

* Ban-Tierna,  the  female  chief ; literally,  the  woman  of  the 
chief,  or  noblewoman.  This  epithet  is  occasionally  applied  to 
the  female  representative  of  a noble  house. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


91 


district  of  Clancare  in  Kerry,  over  bog  and  moun- 
tain, to  sell  my  little  bit  of  an  hobby*  at  the  fair  of 
Kiltishy  to  pay  the  rent  of  the  shed  I break  my  heart 
under.” 

“ Why,  then,  is  that  hobby  with  the  saddle  yours, 
sir  ?”  asked  the  driver. 

“ She  is,”  said  the  poor  man,  sighing,  “ to  my  sor- 
row : and  a finer  bit  of  a baste  for  bog  or  mountain 
journey  doesn’t  breathe,  for  all  I m carrying  her 
back  with  me  this  night ; and  offered  her  for  a thirty 
shilling  Cork  note  and  a pair  of  brogues  to  a hawker 
this  morning.” 

“ Why,  then,  sir,  see  here,”  said  the  driver,  in  a 
voice  full  of  compassion — u If  I had  the  money  my- 
self, I’d  take  her  off  your  hands  the  night,  if  it  was 
only  to  hire  her  out  by  the  job  to  travellers,  and  to 
sarve  you  into  the  bargain,  God  help  you.” 

“ Then  purchase  her  for  me,”  said  the  Commodore, 
who,  with  his  companion,  had  stood  listening  to  this 
local  and  desultory  conversation,  uttered  in  an  accent 
so  strange  to  their  ears  as  not  always  to  be  compre- 
hended. p The  bargain  was  soon  struck,  and  the  owner 
of  the  hobby,  with  eyes  streaming  with  joy,  and  a 
tongue  profuse  in  gratitude,  received  a small  sum 
over  the  price  he  had  demanded. 

“ I believe,”  said  the  elder  stranger,  addressing  him 
as  he  counted  out  his  money,  “ at  least  I have  read  or 
heard,  that  your  barony  of  Dunkerron  was  famous 
for  this  small  breed  of  horses  ?”B 

* The  little  hobbies  of  this  country  are  the  most  proper  to 
travel  through  it ; and  a man  must  abandon  himself  entirely  to 
their  guidance,  which  will  answer  much  better  than  if  one  should 
strive  to  manage  and  direct  their  steps. 


92 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


u And  is  so,  yonr  honor,  to  this  day ; and  that’s  all 
it  is  famous  for  now,  barring  St.  Crohan’s  Cell,  the 
patron  saint  of  the  barony,  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock 
with  his  own  hands.” 

The  Commodore  leant  his  head  eagerly  forward, 
and  in  a peculiar  tone  of  voice,  said,  “ And  under  the 
hill  of  Kilcrohan  there  stands — there  did  stand,  a 
small,  ancient  building,  commanding  the  bay  of  Ken-  * 
mare,  once  a friary.” 

“I  know  it  well,  your  honor;  the  chapelry  of 
Glinsky,  the  school-house  of  Terence  Oge  O’Leary, 
and  is  there  to  this  hour,  troth.” 

“ To  this  hour  ?”  repeated  the  Commodore  in  emo- 
tion. 

“ That’s  the  ruins  of  it,  your  honor.  After  Measter 
O’Leary  quit  the  place,  nobody  cared  to  take  up  in 
it ; and  somehow,  the  times  doesn’t  favor  laming  now 
in  Kerry  as  formerly ; and  besides,  there  was  an  odd 
story  went  about  the  school-house.  I disremember 
me  what  now ; and  was  a slip  of  a boy  then,  and 
went  higher  up  into  Clancare — that’s  twenty  years 
ago,  ay,  faith,  twenty-two  years,  since  Terence  Oge 
quit  the  place.” 

“ And  more,”  said  the  lame  beggar,  who  was  filling 
a sieve  with  some  oats  out  of  a sort  of  chest  near  the 
hearth.  “ I've  good  right  to  remember  it  well,  for  I 
was  the  very  man  that  brought  the  young  lord,  that 
would  have  been,  from  Court  Fitzadelm  to  Terence 
Oge  O’Leary’s  house,  who  was  his  foster-father,  and 
gave  him  all  the  learning  he  got,  young  gentleman.” 

“ Did  you  ?”  said  the  Commodore,  raising  his  up- 
raised arm;  then  suddenly  letting  it  drop,  he  asked  m 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


93 


an  altered  tone,  “ Did  you  send  for  a smith  to  look 
to  our  chaise  ?” 

“ I did,  your  honor,  and  is  at  it  this  moment ; and 
troth  I didn’t  see  that  same  chaise  drive  up  the  night 
with  a dry  eye ; for,”  he  added,  turning  to  the  Kerry- 
man,  u it  was  in  that  very  chaise  wThich  my  lord 
brought  his  elegant  bride  in,  that  I afterwards  car- 
ried her  son  after  her  death  down  to  Dunkerron  to 
Measter  O Leary’s,  from  whence  he  never  returned, 
dead  or  alive.” 

“ That’s  the  young  lord  was  drowned  off  the  bay 
of  Kenmare,  in  his  own  bit  of  a corragh , and  they  say 
haunts  the  chapelry  of  Glensky  to  this  hour?”  de- 
manded the  Kerryman. 

“ Och ! to  my  heavy  sorrow,”  said  the  mendicant, 
dropping  the  vessel  he  was  measuring  the  corn  with, 
and  leaning  over  the  chest,  “ that  was  a sore  day  for 
me,  sir,  for  if  he  was  in  it  this  hour  it  isn’t  in  this 
condition  I’d  be,  ould  and  lame,  poor  and  desolate, 
and  so  I tould  Measter  O Leary  last  week,  who  dropt 
salt  tears  when  he  saw  me.” 

“ Last  week !”  reiterated  the  stranger ; then,  with 
a change  of  voice,  he  added,  “ Were  you  in  Kerry 
last  week,  in  Dunkerron  ? I am  travelling  that  way, 
and  should  like  to  know  the  state  of  the  roads.” 

“ I was  not,  sir,  in  Kerry,  and  never  put  my  foot  in 
it  since  I left  the  young  gentleman  there,  that's  the 
honorable  De  Montenay  Fitzadelm.” 

“ You  said  you  saw  O’Leary  there,  I thought  ?” 

“ It  was  down  in  the  Peninsula  I saw  Mr.  Terence 
Oge  O’Leary,  your  honor,  and  am  but  just  come  from 
it  this  day.” 


94 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ The  Peninsula  !”  repeated  the  Commodore 
“ where  is  that  ?” 

“ The  Peninsula  of  Dunore,  sir,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Boggra  Mountains,  where  the  Marquis’s  Castle 
is,  on  the  seaside,  at  the  bottom  of  the  country,  a 
lovely  fine  place.” 

“ I suppose  the  castle  is  in  ruins  ?”  observed  Mr. 
De  Yere,  carelessly — “I  mean  Dunore  Castle.” 

“ Not  at  all,  your  honor,  but  as  good  as  the  day  it 
wTas  built,  every  stone  of  it ; ay,  faith,  and  better ; for 
sure  it  was  getting  ready  two  years  back  for  the 
young  mad  Marquis;  but  the  workmen  have  been 
stopped,  since  he  went  beside  himself:  and  it  would 
have  been  his  cousin’s  that  was  drowned  only  for  the 
villainy  of  the  world  that  banished  the  cratur  to  the 
wilds  of  Kerry,  as  Mr.  O’Leary  says;  and  no  luck 
could  follow  them  after  that,  great  as  they  are  now.” 

“ I remember  that  O’Leary  when  he  wTas  out  of  his 
mind  himself,”  said  the  landlady,  “ and  I a bit  of  a 
slip  of  a girl : he  used  to  be  wandering  in  the  moun- 
’•%.  tains  here,  and  bothering  the  world  with  the  Macar- 
thies  and  the  Fitzadelms,  and  looking  for  their  ould 
castles  in  ould  places.” 

“ Och,  then,  he’s  brave  and  hearty  now,  Mrs.  Gaff- 
ney,” returned  the  lame  hostler,  “ and  has  a fine 
school  in  the  preceptory  of  Monaster-ni-oriel.  Many 
thanks  to  friar  Denis  O’Sullivan,  the  superior;  for  it 
was  he  who  took  him  upland  preached  the  devil  out 
of  him  (for  they  say  he  was  possessed),  and  set  him 
down  there,  snug  and  aisy,  in  the  friary ; and  allows 
him  to  let  his  own  apartment  to  bathers  that  come 
to  the  salt  wather  when  himself s not  in  it;  and, 
troth,  you  wouldn’t  think,  the  day,  he  had  put  more 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


95 


than  fifty  years  over  his  head,  that's  Mr.  O’Leary, 
though  he’s  sixty  right  out ; for  it’s  thirty-four  years 
since  his  wife  got  the  nursing  at  Count  Fitzadelm, 
and  Terence  was  twenty-six  good  then,  and  a brave 
lump  of  a poor  scholar,  when  he  missed  his  vocation,* 
and  married  Soosheen  O’Callaghan.” 

“They  say  it  was  laming  cracked  his  brain,”  ob- 
served the  landlady. 

“No,  troth!  but  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  foster- 
child  ; and  to  this  day,  when  he  isn’t  going  on  with 
his  skancios  of  the  Macarthies  More,  it’s  of  him  he 
bees  talking,  in  spite  of  the  Crawleys.”  The  mendi- 
cant hostler  now  raised  the  sieve  of  oats  on  his  head 
and  hobbled  back  to  the  stables. 

“ Och  ! but  it’s  a pity  of  him,  the  cratur,”  said  Mrs. 
Gaffney,  whose  evident  love  of  gossipping  was  much 
gratified  by  the  conversation  which  had  accidentally 
arisen — ■“  poor  and  lame  as  he  is  now,  a baccah,  beg- 
ging his  bit  through  the  country,  and  betimes  doing 
a turn  here  for  us, — why,  then,  he  has  seen  great  days 
formerly,  and  was  whipper-in  to  Lord  Fitzadelm, 
that’s  the  Black  Baron,  and  often  called  in  to  sing 
‘ the  Hunt  of  Kilruddery’  for  my  lord  and  the  qual- 
ity, in  the  great  parlor  after  dinner ; and  at  last  lent 
him  even  his  trifle  of  wages,  and  sold  his  bit  of  a place 
to  raise  money  for  him,  and  got  his  lameness  by  being 
thrown  off  in  his  service ; and  there  you  are  now, 
Fineen  McCrehan,  without  a rag  to  kiver  you,  or  a 
shed  to  lay  your  head  under,  or  a bit  of  a bed  to  die 
on,  or  as  much  as  would  buy  a pipe  to  wake  you 
with  this  night.  Ah  ! then,  nothing  ever  thriv  with 

* Vocation — to  tlie  priesthood.  To  miss  vocation  always 

means  to  fall  in  love. 


96 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


them  Fitzadelms ; they  had  the  black  drop  in  them, 
for  all  they  were  the  portliest  men  in  the  country 
(though  I never  see  them,  barring  in  pictures),  and  to 
this  day  it’s  a saying  in  the  country,  1 comely  and 
wicked  like  a Fitzadelm.,’  Well,  there’s  the  last  stick 
and  stone  of  the  court  to  be  sold  next  week.  We 
had  orders  to  stick  up  the  bill,  sirs,  here,  from  Mr. 
Crawley’s  land  baily  of  Dunore,  who  passed  through 
the  mountains  yesterday.” 

“ Then  the  devil  set  his  foot  after  him  wherever  he 
goes,  and  that  he  may  never  come  back,  I pray 
Christ,”  said  the  driver,  as  he  drew  his  cotamore 
round  him,  and  went  forth  to  look  after  the  equipage. 

To  this  pious  adjuration  a very  general  “ amen’ 
was  returned ; while  both  the  travellers,  as  if  moved 
by  the  same  impulse  of  curiosity,  advanced  to  read 
the  advertisement  hung  over  the  chimney,  by  the 
rushlight  which  was  fastened  in  a cleft  stick  near  it. 
This  paper  indicated  that  the  old  castle  and  mansion 
of  Court  Fitzadelm,  beautifully  situate  in  a valley, 
watered  by  the  Avon  Fienne,  and  sheltered  by  the 
Galtees  and  Ballyhowry  mountains,  were  to  be  put 
up  for  sale  on  a certain  day,  or  might  be  purchased 
by  private  contract.  The  materials  were  strongly  re- 
commended to  any  gentleman  who  was  building ; and 
a few  acres  of  meadow  land,  with  the  liberties  of  a. 
certain  portion  of  the  salmon  fishery  on  the  Avon 
Fienne,  were  to  be  sold  or  leased.  References  were 
to  be  made  to  Darby  Crawley,  Esq.,  Newtown,  Mount 
Crawley,  Dunore,  or  at  his  house,  Merrion  Square, 
Dublin. 

“ I should  like  to  see  this  Court  Fitzadelm,”  said 
the  Commodore,  addressing  Mr.  Do  Vere  in  Spanish. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


97 


“ Perhaps  I may  be  induced  to  purchase  it,  The 
fishery  of  a fine  river  is  a strong  inducement,  and  my 
future  destiny  is,  I hope,  to  reside  in  this  country.” 

“ I should  like  to  see  it  also,  and  will  accompany 
you.  By  its  vicinity  to  the  Ballyhowry  mountains, 
it  can’t  be  far  from  Buttevant,”  replied  De  Yere. 

On  inquiries  made  from  the  landlady,  and  partly 
answered  by  the  ill-looking  man  at  the  three-legged 
table,  they  found  that  Court  Fitzadelm  lay  due  south 
of  the  Ballyhowry  mountains.  “Then,”  said  the 
Commodore,  “ I can  take  it  en  chemin  faisant  to  the 
peninsula  of  Dunore.” 

“ Dunore  !”  repeated  the  younger  traveller ; “ I 
thought  you  were  proceeding  to  Kerry  ?” 

“Not  immediately,”  was  the  careless  reply;  and 
the  next  moment  the  Commodore,  observing  that  he 
would  endeavor  to  expedite  their  journey,  left  the 
house.  De  Yere  meantime  took  out  his  Spenser,  and 
threw  himself  upon  the  settle,  in  the  place  of  the  fe- 
male in  the  frieze  cloak,  to  whom  the  landlady  was 
serving  out  some  milk  in  another  part  of  the  kitchen  ; 
when  his  neighbor  in  the  calesh,  jerking  the  skirt  of 
her  riding  cloak  forward,  which  he  had  incautiously 
sat  upon,  observed — “I’d  trouble  you  to  move  off: 
you  were  not  so  ready  to  put  your  comether * on  me 
when  you  refused  me  making  a third  in  the  chay, 
why  ! from  Dublin  to  Cashel.” 

Startled  at  this  half-remembered  accent,  De  Yere 
raised  his  eyes  fearfully,  and  under  the  yawning 
cavity  of  the  calesh,  beheld  the  red  nose  and  green 
spectacles  of  Mrs.  Magillicuddy.  He  sprung  from 
his  seat  and  left  the  house.  “ For  heaven’s  sake,”  he 
* “ Comether ” — officious  intrusiveness. 


FLORENCE  MA.CARTHY. 


exclaimed,  as  with  rapid  strides  he  advanced  to  his 
fellow-traveller,  who  stood  talking  near  the  door  to 
the  baccah  and  the  Kerry  horsedealer,  “ for  heaven’s 
sake  let  us  be  off  directly,  with  or  without  a wheel. 
Who  do  you  think  one  of  the  two  females  at  the  fire 
may  be  ?” 

“ Not  your  nightmare,  I hope,”  said  the  Commo- 
dore, smiling — “ not  Mrs.  Magillicuddy.” 

“ My  nightmare,  indeed  !”  he  reiterated,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  : “ this  is  being  fairly  hag-ridden.” 

“ Magillicuddy  !”  repeated  the  driver  of  the  first- 
arrived  chaise,  who  was  putting  to  his  horses.  ■“  Is 
that  the  ould  lady’s  name,  your  honor  ? Why,  then, 
troth,  she’s  a gentlewoman  every  taste  of  her,  and 
pays  finely ; and  for  that  same,  I bate  your  chay  fair- 
ly, and  got  in  half  an  hour  before  yez.” 

“ Where  did  you  start  from  !”  asked  Owrny,  com-  ; 
ing  forward. 

“ From  Cashel ; and  came  the  low  road ; and 
wonder  yez  would  take  to  the  mountains ; only  it’s 
what  I believe  you  lost  your  way,  sir,”  he  replied. 

“ And  where  are  you  going  to  now  V asked  De 
Vere,  evidently  interested  in  the  question. 

“ We  are  going  on  to  one  side  of  Doneraile,  sir: 
and  if  we  can’t  make  that  before  ten  o’clock,  we  are 
to  stop  at  the  New  Inn;  for  th’  ould  lady  doesn't 
care  to  be  on  the  road  after  the  moon  goes  dowm,  ; 
though  from  this  to  Doneraile  is  as  beautiful  as  a 
bowling-green.” 

“ I think,”  said  Mr.  De  Vere,  “I  should  be  well 
contented  to  remain  here  to-night,  if  there  was  a 
chance  of  clean  beds,  or  even  of  fresh  hether:  we 
could  then  proceed  to  Court  Fitzadeim  early  to-mor- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


99 


row,  instead  of  having  to  tread  back  onr  steps  by 
going  to  Buttevant  first”  This  was  addressed  to  tho 
Commodore. 

“ Och,  then,  not  better  beds  you’ll  get  in  the  barony 
than  at  the  little  back-room  at  Lis-na-sleugh,”  ob- 
served Owny,  who"  appeared  to  listen  with  attention  ; 
and  I carried  two  gentlemen  here  who  slept  in  them 
last  week,  and  one  of  them  a priest,  that’s  Friar 
^O’Sullivan,  on  his  way  to  Cork.” 

“ Then  we  will  endeavor  to  make  our  arrangements 
accordingly,”  said  De  Vere,  turning  sharp  round,  and 
coming  in  contact  with  the  whalebone  of  Mrs.  Magil- 
licuddy’s  calesh ; for  she  had  stood  for  the  last  few 
minutes  behind  them. 

“ Why,  then,  man,”  she  exclaimed  to  her  driver, 
u will  you  lave  off  your  gossip,  and  not  keep  us  here 
till  midnight,  why !” 

To  this  remonstrance,  made  in  a most  stentorian 
! voice,  the  man  replied  by  opening  the  chaise  door, 
letting  down  the  steps,  and  letting  in  the  infirm  Mrs. 

! Magillicuddy  and  her  more  youthful  attendant,  who 
sprung  lightly  into  the  chaise  after  her:  they  im- 
mediately drove  away. 

“ I told  you,”  said  the  younger  traveller,  “ we 
were  fated  to  remain  at  this  miserable  little  mountain 
inn.” 

“ The  fatality  lies  in  your  prepossessions,”  replied 
the  Commodore,  “ or,  if  you  will,  in  the  superhuman 
influence  of  Mrs.  Magillicuddy;  and  yet,  she  is  a 
woman.” 

“ A woman  ! Sex  hath  but  one  age  : that  passed, 

| there  is  neither  man  nor  woman.  Who  would  assign 
| to  such  a thing  as  that  a gender,  with  her  lungs  and 


100 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


her  bulk,  her  natural  defects  and  artificial  disgusts, 
her  Bardolph’s  nose,  and  tower  of  horse  hair.  A 
woman ! gracious  heaven ! ’Tis  altogether  another 
species,  made  of  other  elements,  and  composed  of 
other  organs  !” 

As  he  thus  stood  “ chewing  the  cud  of  sweet  and 
bitter  fancies,”  in  apostrophizing  all  that  was  lovely, 
and  all  that  had  ceased  to  be  so,  in  the  sex,  his  more 
active,  more  vigilant  fellow-traveller,  was  occupied  in 
providing  for  their  night’s  accommodation.  He  had 
also  inquired  for  the  driver,  to  inform  him  of  their 
new  arrangements,  and  learned  from  the  lame  hostler 
that  he  was  gone  behind  the  other  chaise,  as  far  as 
the  smith’s  forge,  for  an  iron  pin,  which  was  wanting 
to  the  complete  reinstatement  of  the  broken  machine- 
ry of  their  own  cra^y  carriage. 

The  circumstance  of  two  such  guests . remaining 
for  the  night  at  Lis-na-sleugh  produced  a business 
and  bustle  most  unusual  beneath  its  humble  roof. 
Skaneen  * the  boy,  was  employed  in  catching,  killing, 
and  plucking  a fowl,  which  had  (reckless  of  the  fate 
that  awaited  it)  taken  up  its  roost  on  the  rafter  of  the 
kitchen.  The  baccali  was  occupied  in  preparing  such 
a table  equipage  for  supper  as  the  house  afforded ; 
and  the  hostess  herself  gave  her  attention  to  the  little 
bedroom. 

This  apartment,  which  communicated  by  a few  steps 
with  the  parlor,  contained  two  small,  old-fashioned 
bedsteads,  with  patchwork  quilts  (the  accumulated 
fragments  of  half  a century),  and  check  curtains  of 
transparent  texture.  Though  poor  and  mean,  it  was 
cleanly  and  cheerful;  and  was  just  such  a sleeping 

* Shaneen — Little  John — Jack. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


101 


apartment  as  is  to  be  found  in  every  inn  in  Ireland, 
that  lies  in  a road  but  little  frequented. 

When  the  strangers  returned  to  the  house,  from  a 
short  refreshing  walk  among  the  moonlight  glens,  the 
house  was  cleared  of  its  guests,  silent  and  tranquil.  A 
clean  cloth  was  spread  upon  the  parlor  table,  the  turf 
fire  blazed  brightly ; and  though  there  was  no  wine  to 
be  had,  and  they  had  not  yet  made  up  their  palates  to 
what  Peter  the  Great  called  “Irish  wine,”  yet  the 
clear  spring  that  gushed  from  the  neighboring  rock 
was  pure  falernian  to  thirsty  and  temperate  travellers. 
The  supper  prepared,  by  their  cordial  hostess,  though 
homely,  was  all  fri  ndise  to  appetites  sharpened  by 
the  mountain  air,  and  placed  beyond  the  delicacy  of 
fastidiousness  by  long  fast. 

Owny,  who  had  returned  from  the  forge,  inquired 
carelessly  “ if  they  had  now  the  place  to  themselves, 
barring  the  gentlemen,”  and  being  answered  in  the 
affirmative  (for  the  three  guests  in  the  kitchen,  the 
horsedealer,  the  peddler,  and  his  companion,  had  all 
departed  under  favor  of  the  moonlight),  he  immedi- 
ately threw  off  his  cotamore,  caubeen,  and  wig.  Light, 
alert,  and  diligent,  he  now  officiated  as  valet  to  the 
gentlemen,  and  as  coadjutor  to  Mrs.  Gaffney’s  estab- 
lishment ; and  his  services  added  considerably  to  the 
little  sum  of  comfort  and  accommodation  which  the 
travellers  could  naturally  expect,  in  this  improved 
imitation  of  a Spanish  Posada. 

Meantime  the  Irish  cead  mille  faltha*  shone  in  every 
eye,  and  beamed  its  welcome  on  the  strangers.  The 
obvious  good  will  of  all  compensated  for  the  defi- 


Hundred  thousand  welcomes. 


102 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY 


cieney  of  ability  but  too  obvious;  and  even  the 
younger,  and  less  easily  satisfied  guest,  was  led  to  ob- 
serve of  the  little  shebeen  of  Lis-na-sleugh,  as  the 
French  philosopher  did  of  the  world,  “ Si  tout  n-y  est 
pas  bien  tout  est  passable 


CHAPTER  IV. 


This  Eden,  this  demi-paradise, 

This  dear,  dear  land  is  now  leased  out 
Like  to  a tenement,  or  pelting  farm. 

Shakespeare. 

What  harmony  is  this  7 

Marvellous,  sweet  music ; 

Give  us  kind  keepers,  heaven. 

Ibid. 

Were  such  things  here  as  we  do  speak  about  7 or  have  we  eaten 
of  the  insane  root  that  takes  the  reason  prisoner  7 

Ibid. 

There  is  scarcely  any  cabaret  in  the  remote  parts  of 
Ireland,  over  whose  door  is  exhibited  the  usual  adver- 
tisement of  “ Good  entertainment  for  man  and  beast,” 
where  a tolerable  breakfast  may  not  be  procured; 
the  abundance  and  freshness  of  the  milk,  butter,  and 
eggs,  usually  compensating  for  the  indifferent  quality 
of  that  far-fetched  and  vivifying  herb,  which  the 
Widow  Gaffney  assured  her  guests  as  they  seated 
themselves  at  her  breakfast  table,  after  the  refreshing 
repose  of  the  night,  was  “ illigant  tay  from  Cork.” 
Luckily,  they  were  just  then  in  a temper  of  mind  to 
take  much  upon  faith,  and  to  be  pleased  on  very  scanty 
premises.  There  was  a novelty,  a romantic  singu- 
larity in  their  actual  position,  which  lent  it  a peculiar 
charm  (at  least  to  the  younger  traveller,  to  whom  it 
was  evident  that  whatever  was  new  was  good) : 
while  it  was  obvious  to  both,  that  even  the  wildest 


104 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


parts  of  Ireland  afforded  that  security  to  the 
stranger’s  wandering,  which  is  refused  only  to  the 
local,  official  oppressor. 

The  travellers  left  the  inn  of  Lis-na-sleugh,  followed 
by  the  blessings  of  its  inhabitants,  excited  by  their 
liberality.  Had  the  younger  of  them  been  capable  of 
observing  anything,  in  which  he  was  not  himself  per- 
sonally concerned,  he  might  have  noticed  that,  pre- 
vious to  their  departure,  his  mysterious  companion 
had  been  engaged  in  a conference  with  the  lame 
hostler,  which  lasted  a considerable  time : for  while 
Owny  was  putting  to  the  horses,  and  arranging  the 
portmanteaux,  the  Commodore,  with  arms  folded, 
brows  compressed,  and  eyes  full  of  eager  listening 
curiosity,  remained  silently  attentive  to  some  narra- 
tion, which  seemed  circumstantially  detailed  by  the 
baccah.  As  they  both  stood  under  the  shadow  of  an 
impending  cliff  (the  bold  figure  of  the  Commodore  in 
deep  shade,  and  darkly  defined, — the  bending  form 
of  the  cripple  supported  by  his  crutch,  and  tinged  by 
the  light  of  a straggling  sunbeam),  they  seemed  ap- 
propriate figures  for  the  wild  scenery  that  surrounded 
them.  In  this  point  of  view  only  they  were  con- 
sidered by  the  tasteful  observer,  who  stood  looking 
at  them  through  his  half-closed  eyes,  and  who  simply 
noted  the  effect  of  their  picturesque  grouping,  with- 
out one  surmise  as  to  its  cause. 

The  mountains  the  travellers  had  crossed,  and  the 
glen  in  which  they  had  passed  the  night,  soon  re- 
ceded from  their  view : their  journey  lay  along  a 
comparatively  good  road,  among  a long  chain  of  hills, 
which  fenced  within  their  undulating  boundaries 
many  a lovely  glen  and  romantic  valley,  brightening 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


105 


in  the  morning  sunshine.  Acclivity  rose  above 
acclivity,  lifting  their  bleak  bare  heads  to  the  clouds 
in  wild  and  savage  magnificence  : those  to  the  west, 
forming  the  boundaries  of  the  county  of  Kerry ; 
those  to  the  north  and  east,  the  Ballyhowry  and 
Nagle  mountains,  enclosing  the  classical  scenery  of 
Spenser ; his  own  “ Mole”  rising  conspicuously  above 
all. 

In  the  bosom  of  this  wild  and  fantastic  region, 
after  a journey  of  twelve  miles,  the  valley  of  Glen- 
fionne,  or  the  Fair  Valley,  was  announced  by  the 
driver;  and  the  old  woods  and  towers  of  Court  Fitz- 
adelxn  were  discovered  in  the  distance,  crowning  a 
rocky  summit,  which  seemed  to  hang  perpendicularly 
over  the  winding  waters  of  the  Avon  Fienne.  The 
demesne  of  this  fine  old  seat  was  accessible  by  many 
mountain  ravines  from  the  south ; but  the  design  of 
its  late  lord,  who  had  cut  a road  across  a branch  of 
the  Galtees,  to  shorten  the  way  from  Dublin,  though 
inadequately  executed,  was  judiciously  conceived. 
On  that  side,  its  situation  had  been  inaccessible,  re- 
mote, and  romantic.  The  extensive  stone  wall, 
which  ran  round  the  north  of  the  demesne,  was  in 
many  places  dismantled  and  broken  down;  and 
through  its  frequent  breaches,  it  exhibited  the  result 
of  that  pernicious  and  exhausting  system  of  farming 
resorted  to  in  such  places.  The  ci-devant  agent,  now 
the  actual  but  absent  master,  had  let  out  the  beauti- 
ful demesne  in  what  is  called  jobbing  farms,  whose 
tillage  rarely  extends  beyond  the  growing  of  pota- 
toes ; for  which  purpose  the  ground  is  uncalculatingly 
burned,  to  produce  one  good  crop  to  its  temporary 
possessor.  Here  and  there,  vestiges  of  wretched 


106 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


crops  of  grass  and  oats  showed  the  land  to  he  utterly 
exhausted  ; and,  ^n  many  places  it  was  abandoned  to 
the  wild  growth  of  weeds  and  briers.  Almost  every- 
where the  old  meadow  and  pasture  grounds  were 
covered  with  furze,  broom  and  rushes,  which,  though 
now  yellow  and  rich  to  the  eye,  were  still  but  “ un- 
profit  ably  gay.” 

The  subdivisions  of  petty  property  were  marked 
by  rude  meerings ; and  each  temporary  tenant  had 
secured  his  own  rood  of  ground  with  unplanted 
mounds,  wThose  occasional  gaps  were  stopped  with 
brambles  and  heath  bushes.  This  coarse  and  rude 
system  of  farming  added  much  to  the  desolate  and 
neglected  aspect  of  a naturally  lovely  scene,  which, 
in  its  present  state,  formed  an  apt  epitome  of  the 
abandoned  dwellings  of  the  Irish  absentees. 

The  scanty  and  miserable  population  which  ap- 
peared in  the  neighborhood  of  the  once  princely 
Court  Fitzadelm,  was  appropriately  wretched  and 
neglected.  From  a few  mud-built  huts,  raised  against 
the  park  wall,  occasionally  issued  a child,  or  a pig ; 
while  the  head  of  its  squalid  mistress  appeared  for  a 
moment  through  the  cloud  of  smoke  streaming 
through  the  door,  and  then  suddenly  retreated. 

The  long  and  broken  road,  winding  round  the 
wall,  seemed  to  lengthen  as  the  travellers  proceeded  • 
and  they  stopped  to  inquire  the  way  to  the  nearest 
approach  of  a poor  man  who  was  driving  a lamb 
with  a straw  rope  round  its  leg.  The  man  pointed 
to  a winding  in  the  road,  and  directed  them  to  the- 
ruined  gates  of  the  principal  entrance ; he  then  took 
up  the  wearied  lamb  on  his  shoulders,  an<J  proceeded 
sullenly  on„ 


FLORENCE  MACARTHYo 


10T 


52  The  cratur !”  said  the  driver,  who  was  now  walk- 
ing by  the  side  of  his  horses,  as  were  also  the  gentle- 
men ; “ God  help  him ! he  is  now  going  all  the  way 
to  Ballinispig  fair  with  that  bit  of  a lamb;  eight  good 
long  miles,  and  maybe  it  won’t  bring  him  over  three 
tinpinnies.” 

They  had  now  reached  the  entrance  of  what  had 
been  considered  one  of  the  most  magnificent  de- 
mesnes in  Ireland,  once  forming  part  of  the  princi- 
pality of  the  Macarthies,  and  successively  passing  by 
grants  and  forfeitures  from  them  to  the  powerful 
Desmonds,  and  again  to  the  favored  Fitzadelms.  It 
was  now  the  ill-managed  possession  of  an  attorney, 
who  had  held  it  partly  on  mortgage  and  partly  by 
lease  from  the  elder  Baron  Fitzadelm,  designated  in 
the  country  by  the  sobriquet  of  the  “ Black  Baron.” 
The  eyes  of  the  strangers  seemed  equally  anxious 
in  their  gaze,  which  was,  in  both,  more  expressive 
of  obscure  and  faded  recognition  than  of  mere  idle 
curiosity.  A long  range  of  iron  gate  presented  itself 
to  their  view,  much  broken,  many  of  the  bars  drawn 
out,  and  the  tracery  covered  with  rust.  The  massive 
stone  pillars,  on  either  side,  overgrown  with  lichens, 
still  exhibited  some  vestiges  of  handsome  sculpture ; 
the  capital  of  one  was  surmounted  by  a headless 
eagle,  the  other  showed  the  claw  and  part  of  the 
body  of  a goshawk — both  natives  of  the  surrounding 
i mountains,  and  well  imitated  in  black  marble,  drawn 
from  their  once  worked  quarries.  Two  lodges 
i mouldered  on  either  side  into  absolute  ruin,  and 
the  intended  improvement  of  a Grecian  portico  to 
I one,  never  finished,  was  still  obvious  in  the  scattered 
fragments  of  friezes  and  entablatures,  which  lay 


108 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


choaked  amidst  heaps  of  nettles,  furze-bushes  aiid 
long  rye-grass.  The  broad  approach,  though  now 
moss-grown  and  green,  was  still  to  be  traced  wind- 
ing through  beautifully  undulating  but  neglected 
grounds;  and  there  was  a kind  of  mimic  forest 
richly  clothing  the  sides  of  the  elevated  heights, 
which  rose,  like  little  mountains,  from  the  southern 
shore  of  the  river,  deceiving  the  eye,  and  appearing 
the  same  luxuriant  wood  which  had  once  bloomed 
there.  It  was  now  but  the  sprouting  stumps  suc- 
ceeding to  the  lofty  majesty  of  the  full-grown  oak? 
pine  and  mountain  ash,  for  which  this  country  was 
once  so  celebrated. 

While  the  travellers  stood  looking  upon  this  fine, 
but  melancholy  scene,  the  driver  thrust  his  head 
through  the  broken  bars  of  the  gate,  and,  directing 
his  voice  towards  one  of  the  ruined  lodges,  whence 
issued  a feeble  smoke,  cried  out,  “ Alleen  machree ! 
Atteen  deelish  /” 

“Who  do  you  call  to?”  asked  the  Commodore, 
impatiently  endeavoring  to  open  the  gate. 

“ To  little  Ellen,  plaze  your  honor,  the  daughter 
of  the  poor  baccah  at  Lis-na-sleugh,  who  lives  here 
with  her  ould  granny,  that  kept  the  gates  in  both  th’ 
ould  lords’  time,  and  is  bed-ridden  now;  that’s  as 
the  baccah  tould  me  last  night,  when  I was  axing 
him  about  the  way.  Alleen  mavourneen .” 

“ Che  shin”K  answered  a shrill  voice  from  within ; 
and  the  next  minute  a figure,  small,  wild  and  fright- 
ful, bounded  over  the  plank  laid  before  the  lodge 
door,  and  stood  at  the  gate.  To  a few  words  ad- 
dressed to  her  in  Irish  she  lent  a timid  but  fixed  at- 


* Who’s  that. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


109 


tention;  then  flew  back  to  the  lodge,  and  instantly 
returned  with  a large  massive  key  which  she  applied 
with  extraordinary  strength  to  the  rusty  lock,  and 
the  heavy  gates  opened  slowly  to  admit  the  unusual 
visitors. 

“ That’s  my  caen-buy-deelish said  Owny,  kindly 
patting  a head,  to  whose  thick  and  matted  locks  ad- 
hered some  bearded  thistles.  The  little  portress 
laughed  with  all  the  wildness  of  fatuity;  but  shrunk, 
scared  and  intimidated,  as  she  snatched  the  offered 
remuneration  from  the  Commodore’s  hand.  Her 
countenance,  however,  exhibited  rather  the  stupor  of 
unawakened  intellect,  than  a natural  deficiency  of  in- 
telligence, 

“ That’s  a poor  1 innocent,’  your  honor : the  likes 
of  them  be  always  found  in  lonely  places,  like  the 
ould  court  here : and  brings  luck  with  them  they  say. 
But  for  all  that  she’s  a natural,  her  father  tells  me 
she’s  the  finest  cat-hunter  and  bird-catcher  in  the 
barony  round ; and  is  quite  cute  at  gathering  brush- 
neens  for  the  bit  of  fire,  and  catering  among  the 
neighbors  with  her  cruiskeenf  and  wallet,  for  her 
ould  bed-ridden  granny.” 

To  this  account  the  Commodore  made  no  reply, 
but  shrugged  his  shoulders ; and  both  gentlemen  pro- 
ceeded in  silence  through  the  demesne,  while  Owny 
entered  the  lodge  to  make  some  inquiries  from  the 
bed-ridden  lodge-keeper  relative  to  the  house;  whether 
it  was  to  be  seen,  and  who  occupied  it.  The  grounds 
were  divided  into  little  plots  and  job-farms,  up  to  the 
door  of  the  mansion,  which  stood  on  a rocky  height 
* My  yellow-headed  darling, 
t A little  pitcher. 


/ 


110  FLORENCE  MACARTHY 

over  the  river.  On  the  opposite  shores  ascended  m 
range  of  well- wooded  acclivities,  whose  summits  min- 
gled with  the  line  of  the  horizon.  Of  the  original 
building  nothing  now  remained,  but  a square  ivy- 
clad  tower,  called  Desmond’s  Castle,  flanking  a less 
imposing  edifice,  built  by  the  Fitzadelms  In  the  reign 
of  James  the  First.  This  wing  was  In  good  preserva- 
tion : but  the  modern  fagade,  raised  forty  years  back 
by  Baron  Fitzadelm,  the  Tierna-Dliu,  was  ruinous  and 
mouldering.  It  had  been  built  by  contract,  was  ra- 
pidly got  up  for  a particular  purpose,  and  had  been 
constructed  with  bad  materials,  most  of  which  were 
not  even  yet  paid  for.  The  precipitous  declivities 
which  swept  down  from  the  rocky  foundation  of  the 
house  to  the  river  had  been  cut  into  terrace  gardens, 
a fashion  still  observable  at  the  seats  of  the  ancient 
nobility  of  Munster : and  it  was  melancholy  to  ob- 
serve the  stunted  rose-tree,  and  other  once-cultivated 
but  now  degenerate  shrubs  and  flowers,  raising  their 
heads  amongst  nettles  and  briers,  and  long  grass,  and 
withered  potato-stalks.  Many  fantastic  little  build- 
ings were  also  seen  mouldering  on  romantic  sites 
along  the  river’s  undulating  banks * some  of  shells, 
some  of  rock-work : all  alike  monuments  of  the  bad 
taste  of  the  day  in  which  they  were  raised,  and  of 
the  wanton  caprice  of  the  persons  who  projected 
them. 

“ It  was  doubtless  from  a scene  like  this,”  observed 
Mr.  De  Vere,  plucking  an  half-perished  rose,  to  which 
adhered  the  foliage  of  the  deadly  nightshade,  “ that 
Spenser  drew  his  poetical  metaphor  of  the  seeds  of 
vice  springing  up  amidst  the  scions  of  virtue 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Ill 


ie  And  with  their  boughs  the  gentle  plants  did  bear ; 

But  ever  more  some  of  the  virtuous  race 
Bose  up  inspired  with  heroic  heat, 

That  cropt  the  branches  of  their  scient  base, 

And  with  strong  hand  their  fruitful  rankness  did  deface.” 

“ It  is  thus,  perhaps,”  returned  the  Commodore, 
“ that  the  rightful  heir  of  Court  Fitzadelm  would  act, 
did  he  behold  this  place  as  we  now  see  it.” 

“ No,”  replied  De  Yere,  flinging  away  together  the 
rose  and  the  nightshade.  “ It  is  probable  that  the 
representative  of  the  Fitzadelm  family  (for  the  unfor- 
tunate and  insane  Marquis  of  Dunore  cannot  be 
deemed  such)  would  look  upon  this  ancient  seat  of 
his  ancestors,  as  I now  view  it,  with  a new  feeling  of 
contempt  for  the  species  to  which  he  belongs ; and 
with  as  little  interest  for  the  posterity  that  is  to  fob 
low,  as  for  the  ancestry  that  preceded  him,  he  would 
put  it  up  to  the  hammer,  and  fly  to  enjoy  its  price  in 
happier  regions  and  more  genial  climes.” 

“ He  would,  on  the  contrary,  perhaps,”  said  the 
Commodore,  with  a vehemence  tinctured  with  irre- 
pressible indignation,  “ endeavor  to  redeem  the  folly 
and  negligence  of  his  ancestors,  wrest  his  paternal 
demesne  from  the  grasp  of  fraud,  or  repurchase  it 
from  the  gripe  of  sordidness ; he  would  then  raise  its 
fallen  towers,  reclaim  its  neglected  soil,  cherish  the 
miserable  population,  and  expiate  the  violence  and 
rapacity  by  which  his  distant  forefathers  obtained 
this  still  beautiful  territory,  by  a constant  and  bene- 
ficial residence  in  the  land  whence  he  draws  his  sup- 
port and  existence.” 

“ You  know  but  little  of  Calista,”  replied  De  Yere, 
smiling  significantly— “ you  know  but  little  of  Lord 
Adelm  Fitzadelm.”  * 


112 


FLORENCE  MACARTHV. 


“ Who  is  he  ?”  asked  the  Commodore,  quickly, 

“ Why,  the  only  brother  of  the  present  Marquis  of 
Dunore,  heir-presumptive  of  his  title  and  possessions  : 
not  to  know  him  would  argue  yourself  unknown.” 

“ Oh  true,”  said  the  Commodore,  with  the  tone  of 
sudden  recollection,  “ I have  heard  of  such  a person.” 
“ I suppose  so,”  was  the  dry  reply. 

Owny  now  joined  them  with  the  information  that 
the  house  was  to  be  seen,  and  that  it  was  inhabited 
by  an  old  housekeeper,  a follower  of  the  Crawley 
family,  nick-named  Protestant  Moll,  the  “ divil’s  own 
saint,”  one  he  had  often  heard  of,  but  never  seen,  and 
so  called  in  regard  of  her  having  once  been  a great 
papist  and  a voteen  * and  having  afterwards  become 
a hedger  (that’s  a turncoat),  and  was  made  a kiln- 
dried  Protestant,  by  Miss  Crawley,  a great  preacher, 
and  sister  to  the  portreeve  of  Dunore,  Torney  Craw- 
ley, Esq.,  a raal  slave  driver,  that  had  many  a poor 
man’s  sowl  to  answer  for.  While  he  spoke  he  was 
vainly  applying  a stone  to  the  folding  doors  of  the 
great  entrance  (for  the  knocker  was  off),  and  at  last 
went  round  to  the  rear  of  the  building,  in  search  of  a 
more  easy  ingress.  In  a few  minutes  his  head  ap- 
peared through  one  of  the  front  windows;  and 
assuring  the  gentlemen  he  would  be  down  in  a crack, 
and  open  the  hall  door  for  them,  he  indulged  himself 
in  a momentary  view  of  the  surrounding  scene. 

He  soon,  however,  descended,  and  was  heard  un- 
barring the  long-closed  portals,  which  slowly  opened 
to  admit  the  strangers.  A most  capacious  hall  of 
black  marble  discovered  on  either  side  several  doors, 
half-panelled;  a superb  but  dismantled  staircase,  in 


* Devotee. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


113 


the  centre,  branched  off  into  a corridor,  which  sur- 
rounded the  hail,  and  appeared  to  lead  to  different 
apartments.  The  rafters  had  in  many  places  fallen 
in ; and  the  plaster  of  the  still  crumbling  ceiling  lay 
in  heaps  upon  the  floor,  f 

This  ruinous  and  melancholy  appearance  gave 
peculiar  force  to  a motto  in  gold  letters  over  the 
folding  doors  of  a private  theatre,  which  opened  into 
the  left  side  of  the  hall.  The  motto  was,  “Laugh 
while  we  can.” 

“ Laugh  while  we  can !”  repeated  the  Commodore, 
with  a shrug,  that  was  almost  a shudder. 

“Oh,  it’s  delicious,”  observed  De  Vere,  ironically, 
“ a thing  to  moralize  a song  withal.” 

“ Why,  then,  it’s  little  of  it  them  gets  now  that  put 
it  up  there,  why ! that’s  now,  God  help  them,  in  a 
place  where  there’s  no  laughing,  but  weeping,  and 
wailing,  and  gnashing  of  teeth.” 

The  strangers  turned  round  at  this  unexpected  ad- 
dress, but  not  unknown  accent,  and  beheld  Mrs. 
Magillicuddy  close  behind  them. 

“This  is  the  housekeeper,  who  will  show  your 
honors  the  place,”  said  Owny,  and  then  retired  to 
look  after  his  horses.  De  Vere  drew  back  many 
paces  from  the  frightful  phantom  of  his  imagination. 
* The  Commodore  stood  surprised,  and  something 
amused  at  the  effect  which  this  sudden  apparition 
produced  on  his  companion,  Mrs.  Magillicuddy, 
whose  face  was  partly  wrapped  up  in  a worsted  stock- 
ing, and  who  was  endeavoring  to  keep  a brown  paper 
steeped  in  whiskey  on  her  nose,  looked  at  them  for  a 
moment  through  her  large  green  spectacles,  and  ad- 


114 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


dressed  them  both  in  a tone  of  great  familiarity,  ot> 
serving : 

“Well,  who  knows  but  we  may  meet  in  heaven 
yet ; little  chance  as  there  seems  for  some  of  us  now, 
why  ! for  we’ve  met  often  enough  in  this  world  any- 
how, and  may  again  when  least  expected.  And  it’s 
little  yez  thought  when  ye  refused  me  a third  in  your 
chay  to  Tipperary,  that  I’d  be  showing  you  Court 
Fitzadelm ; and  is  as  much  mistress  here  as  the  lady, 
if  she  was  in  it,  and  will  be  till  it  fall  into  better 
hands,  plaze  God.  Why,  then,  yez  had  great  luck? 
gentlemen,  not  to  go  in  the  chay  from  Dublin ; for 
it’s  in  it,  shure,  I got  one  of  my  rheumatrix  fits,  all 
down  the  face  and  head  of  me.  And  it  was  the 
Lord’s  will  I should  be  overturned  last  night,  coming 
here,  and  broke  my  nose,  why  ! W ell,  what  matter, 
Shure  111  be  worse  afore  I’m  better ; for  whom  the 
Lord  loveth,  He  chasteneth.  Is  my  strength  the 
strength  of  stone,  or  is  my  flesh  of  brass  ? No,  troth ! 
And  so  this  young  man  here  tells  me  yez  want  to  see 
the  consarn.  Why,  then,  it’s  a sad  place  now;  a 
watch-tower  in  the  wilderness.  And  little  ever  I 
thought  to  see  the  likes  of  yez  in  it  again,  though 
many  of  your  sort  frequented  it  formerly.” 

“ Of  our  sort  ? Why  what  do  you  take  us  for  ?” 
asked  the  Commodore  in  some  surprise,  tinctured  with 
seeming  uneasiness. 

“ For  two  rakes  of  quality,  dear,  going  about  the  in- 
nocent country,  seeking  whom  yez  may  devour,  like 
the  old  one,  why !” 

The  gentlemen  both  smiled;  and  even  De  Yere 
seemed  not  displeased  at  the  definition  given  of  his 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


115 


appearance  by  the  formidable  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  alias 
“ Protestant  Moll.”  Still,  however,  he  hung  back,  and 
looked  upon  her  with  disgust  and  apprehension. 

“ I understand,”  said  the  Commodore,  “ that  this 
old  mansion,  with  a few  acres  of  the  ancient  demesne, 
is  to  be  sold;  and  I wish  to  examine  the  premises, 
before  I apply  for  the  terms  to  Mr.  Crawley,  to  whose 
seat  I am  now  proceeding.” 

“ As  to  the  house,”  said  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  “ it  is 
an  house  of  clay  now,”  (and  she  waddled  before  them 
towards  the  theatre,  the  door  of  which  she  threw 
open) ; “ an  house  of  clay,  whose  foundation  is  in  the 
dust,  and  which  is  crushed  before  the  moth.  There  ! 
— there’s  the  devil’s  tabernacle.” 

Curiosity  now  got  the  better  of  prejudice ; and  Mr. 
De  Vere  approached  to  examine  this  monument  of 
former  dissipation  and  refinement,  in  scenes  so  inap- 
propriate to  its  site.  Most  of  the  decorations,  and 
nearly  all  the  seats  and  scenery,  had  been  removed. 
But  fragments  of  scarlet  cloth  remained  upon  a bench 
which  had  not  been  taken  away.  A cut  wood  scene 
still  occupied  the  stage ; and  some  ornamental  paint- 
ing and  gilding  were  visible  on  the  ceiling  and 
cornice. 

“This  was  a box  fitted  up  for  the  lord  lieutenant,” 
said  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  seating  herself  on  the  soli- 
tary bench,  “ and  when  the  bishop’s  lady  came  here  to 
see  me,  after  my  wonderful  conversion  (and  it  was 
Miss  Crawley  that  delivered  me  from  the  workings  of 
iniquity),  and  found  the  Rev.  Mr.  Scare’um  sitting 
with  me  in  this  very  place  (for  he  came  to  visit  this 
benighted  district,  and  to  take  under  his  protection 
the  perishing  sinners  of  the  hill  country),  says  the 


116 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


bishop’s  lady  to  me  (for  my  conversion  made  a great 
noise,  far  and  near), — no,  says  Mr.  Scare’um  to  Miss 
Crawley,  it  is  curious  to  see,  says  he,  by  what  great 
strides  Molly  Magillicuddy  has  made  her  way  out  of 
Babylon.  Uponwdiich  the  bishop’s  lady  remarked — ” 

“ I cannot  stand  this,”  cried  De  Yere  to  the  Com- 
modore in  Spanish.  “ I will  walk  down  to  the  river, 
while  you  examine  the  house,  if  you  really  think  there 
is  anything  worth  seeing.” 

Mrs.  Magillicuddy  now  rose  with  surprising  alert- 
ness, and  observed : “ Maybe  yez  w mild  like  to  see 
the  ould  family  pictures  which  will  go  with  the  house, 
being  worth  nothing  now,  barring  the  frames,  the  best 
being  gone.” 

The  family  pictures  counteracted  the  effect  of  even 
Mrs.  Magillicuddy’s  egotistical  jargon,  who  seemed 
to  trade  upon  the  history  of  her  conversion,  and  to  sup- 
pose, with  pious  vanity,  that  it  interested  her  audit- 
ors as  much  as  herself.  The  gentlemen  followed  her 
up  the  hall,  while  she  continued  her  recital  with — “ So, 
as  I was  saying,  the  bishop’s  lady,  thinking  me  a mira- 
cle of  grace  (though,  Lord  help  me,  I was  then  but  a 
babe  in  knowledge,  never  having  mansod  hardly  to 
Mr.  Scare’um,  nor  lived  with  the  teisdoo),  she  says  to 
me,  ‘ Molly,’  says  she ” 

“ This  is  a curious  apartment,”  interrupted  the  Com- 
modore, as  he  threw  open  the  door  of  the  room, 
which  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  announced  as  the  presence 
chamber. 

“ Ay,  curious  enough !”  said  she.  “ Here  it  was 
that  the  royal  idolater,  James  the  Second,  held  a court, 
in  his  way  through  Munster,  and  was  attended  by  all 
the  papist  lords,  the  ‘ recusants,’  as  Miss  Crawley  tells 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


117 


me.  Oh ! she’s  a great  scholar  and  was  here  in  her 
way  to  Dublin,  just  afore  I went  to  England  for  that 
legacy  left  me  by  the  pious  Mr.  Scare’um  two  months 
ago — for  the  Fitzadelms,”  she  continued  in  her  digres- 
sive way,  “ was  then  Romans  themselves ; until,  by 
abandoning  the  scarlet  lady  of  Babylon,  they  secured 
their  lands  and  rights ; and  the  king,  when  he  looked 
out  at  this  window  (called  the  king’s  casement  ever 
since),  started  back,  wondering  much  at  the  great 
height  of  the  house  above  the  river.” 

She  threw  open  the  window  as  she  spoke ; and  the 
precipitous  declivity  beneath  seemed  to  justify  the 
royal  astonishment.*  But  the  strangers  were  little 
attracted  by  the  bold  and  beautiful  views  without,  nor 
by  the  fine  friezesTwithin,  which  were  painted  by  the 
Franchinis,  two  Italian  artists,  who  visited  Ireland  a 
century  back,  and  were  employed  in  ornamenting  its 
noble  mansions.  The  few  pictures,  which  mouldered 
in  their  tarnished  frames  upon  the  oaken  wainscot, 
seemed  to  fix  their  most  earnest  attention;  for  the 
greater  number  were  portraits  of  the  most  eminent 
characters  of  Charles  the  Second’s  court. 

The  beauties,  the  wits,  and  the  warriors  of  that  day, 
were  in  a large  proportion  Irish ; and  while  the  pic- 
tures of  the  Hamiltons,  the  Butlers,  the  Yillierses,  the 
Fitzgeralds,  the  Talbots,  the  Muskerries  the  Taafes, 
and  the  Burkes,  are  sketched  for  immortality  in  the 
delightful  Memoirs  of  Grammont,  their  less  durable 
portraits  by  Lilly  and  Kneller  have  been  copied  ad  in- 

* A similar  apartment  and  window  are  shown  at  Lismore 
Castle,  one  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire’s  seats,  as  distinguished 
for  its  romantic  beauty,  as  the  inhabitants  of  its  immediate  neigh- 
borhood are  for  their  courtesy,  elegance,  and  hospitality. 


118 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


finitum*  in  Ireland,  and  are  still  to  be  found  in  many 
of  the  deserted  mansions  of  the  long-absent  great. 
Many  of  these  faded  representatives  of  what  was  once 
lovely  and  animated,  lay  upon  the  ground ; and  the 
dilettante  traveller  soon  detected  “ la  plus  jolie  taille 
du  mon^y  of  the  coquettish  Countess  of  Chester- 
field,! stopping  a broken  window.  “ La  Muskerry\ 
faile  comrne  la  plupart  des  riches  heritieres ,”  skreening 
out  the  ungrated  hearth  of  a capacious  chimney-piece ; 
while  the  fair  Hamilton,  “ grande  et  gracieuse  dons  les 
moindres  de  ses  moubements hung  in  a most  maudlin 
state  out  of  her  frame  ; and  “ la  belle  Stuart ” lay  un- 
distinguished in  a corner  with  “ la  blonde  Blague now 
literally  Uplus  jau7ie  qiCun  coingP 

“ And  are  these  pictures  to  go  with  the  rest  of  the 
premises  ?”  asked  the  Commodore. 

“It’s  little  matter  where  they  go,”  returned  Mrs. 
Magillicuddy,  indignantly,  “ or  if  they  went  with  them 
they  liken ; — a parcel  of  rakes  and  harlots  ! as  Miss 
Crawley  tells  me;  they  are  paying  for  their  scarlet  and 
fine  linen  now,  I warrant ; for  they  that  plow  iniquity, 
and  sow  wickedness,  reap  the  same.  Fie  upon  such 
shameless  Jezebels ! say  I,  who  look  full  of  nought  but 
worldly  vanity  and  fleshly  ease.” 

* Some  by  Souillerd,  a French  artist,  brought  to  Ireland  by 
Lord  Muskerry,  to  paint  his  castle  of  Lixnaw,  in  Munster,  after 
the  cartoons  of  Raphael ; some  too  by  Gandy,  who  came  over 
with  his  patron,  the  great  Duke  of  Ormond,  and  who  seems  to 
have  furnished  half  the  great  houses  in  Munster  with  the  royal 
harem ; and  many  also  by  other  inferior  and  nameless  artists. 

j*  Lady  Elizabeth  Butler,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Ormond, 
and  second  wife  of  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield : she  died  1666. 

! Lady  Margaret  Burke,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Ulic  Burke, 
fifth  Earl  of  Clanrickard,  wife  to  Lord  Charles  Muskerry, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


119 


“Fleshly  ease,  indeed!”  repeated  De  Vere,  gazing 
earnestly  upon  the  picture  of  the  beautiful  Duchess 
of  Cleveland.*  “ There  is  something  in  the  swimming 
eyes  and  thick  lips  of  the  beauties  of  those  times,  a 
charming  unidea’ d sameness  of  physiognomy,  that  is 
now  lost  in  the  female  face.” 

“ Mental  cultivation  most  diversifies  the  counten- 
ance,” replied  the  Commodore.  “ In  barbarous  nations 
there  is  but  one  physiognomy  for  a tribe  : where  there 
is  little  intellect,  there  can  be  but  little  variety  of  ex- 
pression.” 

“ I hate  intellect  in  women,”  said  De  Vere ; “ and 
what  is  most  delicious  in  the  harem  of  that  happy 
satrap,  Charles,  is,  that  they  all  look  such  pretty 
idiots,  so  fond  and  foolish,  as  if  they  were  of  that  sect 
which  once  flourished  in  Spain,  the  Embevecidos , 
whose  life  and  faith  were  made  up  of  love.” 

“ Love,  indeed ! love  ! when  hearts  were  purchased 
with  French  ribbons;  and  perfumed  gloves  went  on 
successful  embassies  to  ladies’  affections.  Oh  ! trust 
me,  your  royal  satraps  have  more  of  laziness  than  of 
love  in  their  engagements;  and  nothing  is  further 
from  passion  than  their  idle  saunterings  ‘ in  ladies’ 
chambers.’  ” 

“ ’Tis  all  abomination ! all  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit !”  said  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  interrupting  the 
Commodore,  indignantly.  “ I didn’t  think  so  once, 
* Lady  Barbara  Villiers,  daughter  and  heiress  of  William  Vil- 
liers,  Lord  Grandison : she  was  a native  of  the  scenes  here  de- 
scribed, and  spent  the  innocent  and  early  part  of  her  life  in  her 
father’s  castle  of  Dromana,  on  the  lovely  banks  of  the  Black- 
water,  now  the  seat  of  Tier  descendant  Villiers  Stewart,  Esquire. 
Part  of  the  summer  of  1817  was  delightfully  spent  by  the  author 
amidst  these  delicious  scenes. 


120 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY 


God  help  me ! For  I walked  in  utter  darkness  till  I 
was  thirty ; and  did  not  wrestle  with  the  ould  one  till 
I was  forty  good.  My  conversion  made  a great  noise 
far  and  near.  The  bishop’s  lady  came  to  me,  and 
said — - — ■” 

Mr.  De  Vere  was  again  retreating,  when  the  old 
woman  hobbled  to  a door  at  the  further  end  of  the 
apartment,  and  throwing  it  open,  said,  “ There,  that’s 
the  drawing-room;”  then  flinging  herself  upon  a broken 
chair,  the  only  article  of  furniture  in  the  room,  except 
an  antique  japanned  chest,  she  continued,  pointing  to 
two  pictures — “ There,  gentlemen,  there  are  the  pic- 
tures of  the  two  brothers ; that  is  half  brothers  by 
blood,  but  whole  brothers  in  iniquity.  I always  took 
the  dark  one  in  robes  to  be  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  the  red-headed  one  to  be  the  Pretender,  till  Miss 
Crawley,  when  she  came  here  for  the  Indy  cabinet, 
informed  me  that  they  were  the  two  last  Lord  Fitza- 
delms,  the  Dhu  and  the  Ruadg,  the  black  and  the  red. 
Well,  that’s  all  that  remains  of  them  now;  the  ould 
one  had  a fine  lob  of  them  both.  He  that  would  have 
wrestled  for  their  salvation  was  not  walking  this 
benighted  country  when  they  were  in  it,  and  so  they 
were  left  to  go  to  the  devil  their  own  way,  why !” 

During  this  charitable  speech  the  eyes  of  the  tra- 
vellers were  fixed  upon  the  pictures,  pointed  out  by 
their  pious  Cicerone.  The  elder  brother  stood  in  his 
parliamentary  robes,  by  a table,  on  which  his  coronet 
was  placed : his  countenance  expressed  haughtiness, 
something  mingled  with  indecision;  and  traces  of 
wild  ill-regulated  passions,  contrasted  with  a look  of 
feebleness  and  dependence,  gave  indication  of  a mind 
endowed  with  some  natural  character,  but  which  had 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


121 


been  spoiled  by  circumstances  and  education ; as  if 
the  natural  force,  which  might  have  gone  to  the 
strengthening  of  his  intellect,  served  but  to  irritate 
his  passions  and  temper.  He  was  of  a dark  and  satur- 
nine complexion ; but  intemperance  had  so  bloated  his 
features,  and  impurpled  his  naturally  sallow  hue,  that 
even  the  painter’s  art  could  scarcely  recall  the  beauty 
for  which  he  had  once  been  celebrated.  This  picture, 
by  the  date,  was  done  above  thirty  years  back ; the 
name  of  the  artist  was  so  obscure,  and  the  execution 
so  inferior,  that  it  was  probably  the  effort  of  some 
itinerant  painter,  who  worked  by  the  square  foot. 

The  younger  brother  was  a true  Geraldine  in  color- 
ing and  feature;  the  light,  curled,  and  golden  hair, 
the  full  blue  eye,  and  fair  complexion  were  there, 
which  distinguished  almost  every  branch  of  that  illus- 
trious family,  particularly  the  southern  Geraldines: 
but  there  was  an  expression  of  licentiousness  and  cun- 
ning mingled  in  the  countenance  of  Gerald  Fitzadelm, 
which  belonged  not  to  the  physiognomy  of  his  family. 
He  had  a foreign  air,  was  habited  in  a Venetian 
domino,  and  held  a black  mask  so  near  his  face,  that 
he  seemed  but  in  the  very  act  of  removing  it.  The 
picture  was  dated  V enice ; the  name  of  the  artist  was 
Italian ; and  a label  hanging  from  it,  with  orders  how 
it  was  to  be  laid  in  the  case,  which  was  placed  near 
it,  indicated  that  it  was  about  to  be  removed.  On  the 
case,  in  large  letters,  was  painted,  “For  the  most 
noble  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Dunore,  Dunore 
Castle.  ’ 

“ Ay,”  said  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  reading  this  address, 
“ay,  to  the  Marchioness  Dowager:  well,  careful  as 
she  is  of  the  picture,  it’s  little  she  valued  the  reality, 


122 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


why ! It's  from  her,  they  say,  the  madness  got  into 
the  Fitzadelm  family.  For  till  the  Baron  Gerald  mar- 
ried that  hoity-toity  Englishwoman  (though,  as  I’m 
tould,  they  were  foolish  enough,  and  wicked  enough 
before),  none  of  them  was  ever  lunatic,  until  the 
two  young  lords,  her  sons,  went  mad  lately.” 

“ What,  both  mad  ?”  asked  the  Commodore,  while 
his  companion  turned  round,  and  fixed  his  eyes  with 
a very  singular  expression  on  the  narrator. 

aAy,  sir,  both  as  mad  as  March  hares:  the  eldest 
being  mad  by  nature,  and  t’other  chap  from  pride, 
why ! But  shure  the  sins  of  the  fathers  must  be 
visited  on  the  childer,  as  Miss  Crawley  says : afflic- 
tion cometh  not  forth  of  the  dust,  neither  doth  trou- 
ble come  out  of  the  ground,  why  ! There  is  the 
young  Marquis  in  a madhouse,  and  there  is  Lord 
Adelm  Fitzadelm,  his.  brother,  wandering  the  world 
wide,  they  say,  looking  for  something,  he  doesn’t 
know  what,  like  a prince  in  the  story-book ; while  his 
mother,  the  ould  policizing  Marchioness,  is  setting 
him  up  for  the  borough  of  Glannacrime  here.  But, 
mark  my  words,  she  needn't  trouble  herself ; it  isn’t 
himself  will  git  it,  with  the  Fitzadelm  name,  and  the 
Dunore  interest  to  boot.” 

“No?”  said  the  younger  traveller,  for  the  first 
time  addressing  this  formidable  person. 

“ No,  sir,  its  meat  for  his  betters,  why.” 

“Indeed!”  returned  De  Yere,  with  an  ironical 
laugh  ; “ and  who  may  they  be,  pray  ?” 

“ Councillor  Con  is,  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Magillicuddy, 
coming  up  close  to  him  with  an  air  of  confidential 
familiarity,  while  he  retreated  before  her  advances ; 
“ that’s  Councillor  Conway  Townshend  Crawley,  ne- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY« 


123 


phew  to  Miss  Crawley,  and  son  to  Portreeve  of 
Dunore.  Qch ! that’s  the  young  man  will  prosper, 
why  ! Mark  my  words,  and  you’ll  see  them  come  to 
pass  yet,” 

While  this  short  dialogue  was  carrying  on,  the 
eyes  of  the  Commodore  were  glancing  rapidly  from 
the  features  of  the  late  baron  to  the  face  and  figure 
of  his  young  companion;  but  when  De  Vere  turned 
round  to  him,  he  abruptly  averted  them,  and  took  up 
a parchment  label  which  hung  from  one  of  the  mas- 
sive brass  handles  of  the  antiquated  japan  chest : the 
inscription  on  it  was  curious,  and  ran  as  follows  : 
•“This  travelling  chest  was  presented  by  his  most 
sacred  Majesty  Charles  the  Second  to  Barbara, 
Duchess  of  Cleveland,  who  bequeathed  it  at  her  death 
in  1691  to  her  kinswoman,  the  Lady  Geraldine  Fitz- 
adelm;  she  married  in  1701  Thomas,  Marquis  of 
Dunore,  her  uterine  cousin,  and  died,  leaving  issue  an 
only  daughter,  1730.” 

“ I wonder  this  most  valuable  relic  is  suffered  to 
remain  here,”  observed  the  Commodore. 

“ Och !”  said  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  who  seemed  all 
care  and  eye  to  everything  that  was  said  and  looked, 
“och,  when  everything  went  to  sixes  and  sevens, 
why ! and  all  was  ruination,  the  Black  Baron  dying 
in  a garret  in  Dublin,  and  his  brother  that  came  to 
the  title  abroad,  it  was  little  regard  was  paid  to  the 
likes  of  that.  But  it  is  now  to  go  by  favor  of  Mr. 
Crawley,  who  owns  all,  to  Dunore  as  a present  to  the 
Marchioness,  whenever  she  comes  over : there’s  the 
matting  to  pack  it.  They  say  it  was  in  it  was  found 
the  family  tree,  which  proved  the  ruined  Fitzadelms 
to  be  the  heirs  in  the  female  line,  in  default  of  male 


124  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 

issue,  to  the  title  and  estate  of  Dunore ; and  to  this 
day  there  is  some  curious  papers  in  it.  Perhaps,  gen- 
tlemen, yez  would  like  to  see  them  ?” 

“ Oh  very  much  1”  was  the  instantaneous  reply  of 
both.  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  now  foraged  to  the  very  | 
bottom  of  her  capacious  pockets  for  the  keys,  crying : * 

“ Weary  on  them  for  keys,  they  are  always  missing 
when  wanting;”  then  suddenly  recollecting  she  had  ; 
hung  them  in  a closet,  she  scudded  off  to  fetch  them. 

The  strangers  again  turned  their  observation  to  the 
portraits  of  the  Lords  Fitzadelms : but  Mrs.  Magilli- 
cuddy had  been  scarcely  more  than  two  or  three  mi- 
nutes gone,  when  a female  voice,  with  all  the  flute-  j 
like  sweetness  of  the  tones  of  youth,  breathed  a few 
clear  melodious  notes  on  their  ear,  as  if  some  skilful 
musician  was  running  a preclusive  division  with  equal 
taste  and  judgment : but  the  sounds,  prolonged  for  a I 
minute  or  two,  were  as  abruptly  dropped  as  begun,  j 
and  all  was  silence.  The  rude  war-cry  of  the  Fitz- 
adelms, or  the  howl  of  the  long-extirpated  Irish  wolf, 
would  have  excited  less  amazement  in  the  minds  of 
the  auditors  than  these  sweet  and  most  musical 
strains.  By  their  expressive  looks  they  seemed  al- 
most to  doubt  their  own  senses;  and  they  remained  j 
for  a considerable  time  silent,  and  in  the  attitude  of 
eager  and  expecting  attention.  Nearly  a quarter  of 
an  hour  thus  elapsed,  yet  all  remained  silent. 

“ Did  ever  mortal  mixture  of  earth’s  mould  breathe 
forth  such  sweet  enchanting  harmony  ?”  asked  De 
Vere,  entranced. 

“ It  seemed  to  come  in  a direct  line  from  behind 
that  fragment  of  tapestry,”  observed  the  Commodore; 
and  he  immediately  raised  the  remains  of  what  once 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


125 


had  been  a handsome  specimen  of  the  Gobelin  manu- 
facture. It  had  concealed  a small  iron  door,  above 
which  was  written  “ Evidence  Chamber.”  The 
strangers  both  looked  alternately,  and  for  a consider- 
able time  through  the  spacious  keyhole,  and  dis- 
covered a small  rude  chamber,  dimly  lighted  by  a 
loophole,  and  perfectly  empty.  After  some  time 
they  looked  out  of  the  window,  which  Mrs.  Magilli- 
cuddy  had  called  King  James’s,  and  found  that  this 
Evidence  Chamber  formed  part  of  the  original  build- 
ing called  Desmond’s  Tower.  Their  joint  thought 
. was  to  leap  out  of  the  window,  and  to  examine  this 
tower,  which  appeared  to  lie  open,  and  to  be  partly 
in  ruins.  But  the  steepness  of  the  rocks  rendered 
such  an  attempt  impossible. 

The  shortest  and  surest  way  to  discover  the  mys- 
tery (for  a mystery  of  the  most  romantic  nature  it 
was  asserted  to  be  by  De  Vere)  was  to  make  inqui- 
ries of  the  old  housekeeper  relative  to  the  songstress 
of  these  ruined  towers.  But  Mrs.  Magillicuddy, 
though  twenty  minutes  had  elapsed,  had  not  returned ; 
and  when  they  went  to  seek  her,  to  their  amazement 
and  consternation  they  found  the  door  locked  or 
bolted,  and  beyond  their  power  to  open  or  force. 
De  Vere  threw  himself  on  the  broken  chair  lately  oc- 
cupied by  the  housekeeper  in  an  ecstacy  of  emotion ; 
his  companion,  on  the  contrary,  displeased,  annoyed, 
and  irritated  as  much  as  astonished,  sought  round  the 
room  for  some  mode  of  egress  in  impatience  and  per- 
turbation. A door  on  one  side  opened  into  a dark 
closet ; two  windows  opposite  to  the  king’s  casement 
he  tried  with  considerable  strength,  but  they  were 
nailed  down.  A third,  more  manageable,  was  opened 


126 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


with  difficulty,  for  the  pullies  were  broken.  It  was, 
however,  at  length  opened,  and  supported  by  a 
broken  picture-frame.  It  communicated  with  one  of 
the  ruined  terraces  hanging  over  the  river,  and  cut 
out  of  the  rock.  The  height,  which  was  considerable, 
was  easily  cleared ; but  the  way  to  the  front  of  the 
house  was  intricate,  and  not  easily  found.  The  nar- 
row irregular  path  was  choked  with  briers,  with  the 
stumps  of  old  trees  recently  cut  down,  and  lying  at 
full  length,  and  with  fragments  of  the  original  ruined 
building,  which  had  fallen  in  abundance. 

As  they  proceeded  through  the  entangled  screen 
of  underwood  and  briers,  they  caught  a view  of  a 
man  seated  in  a cot  (6),  on  the  river  near  a salmon 
weir,  whose  curious  construction,  with  the  picturesque 
appearance  of  the  patient  fisherman  himself,  would  at 
any  other  time  have  attracted  their  attention.  It 
was  now,  however,  chiefly  given  to  their  obstructed 
and  difficult  pathway,  by  which  they  at  last  reached 
the  front  of  this  irregular  and  stupendous  mansion. 

To  their  increased  amazement,  they  found  the  hall- 
door  again  barred  up.  Every  mode  of  ingress 
seemed  closed,  as  when  they  had  first  approached  it. 
Their  chaise  and  its  driver  had  alike  disappeared; 
and  the  little  Kerry  horse,  with  the  Commodore’s 
valise  strapped  on  his  back,  was  fastened  to  a tree, 
and  stood  peaceably  grazing  within  the  length  of  his 
bridle ; while  the  portmanteau  of  De  Yere  was  placed 
near  it,  on  a clump  of  rock. 

The  travellers  remained  for  a moment  looking  at 
each  other  in  silence,  till  De  Vere  burst  into  a fit  of 
laughter,  anything  rather  than  the  ebullition  of  gaiety. 
It  was  almost  hysterical,  and  the  pure  effect  of  over- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


127 


excitement ; when  it  had  in  some  degree  subsided, 
he  said — 

“ So,  this  is  indeed  the  delightful  1 land  of  faery, 
which  Spenser  has  described,  in  which  he  wrote,  in 
which  he  was  inspired.  Here  his  Gloriana  seems  still 
to  fling  about  her  spells ; and  new  adventures  appear 
in  ready  preparation  for  other  Sir  Calidores  and  Sir 
Tristrams,  than  those  of  his  creation.” 

“ Had  we  not  better,”  said  the  Commodore,  who 
for  the  moment  was  stunned  by  the  event,  which, 
though  not  of  superhuman  agency,  appeared  in  his 
mind  scarcely  less  comprehensible  ; “ had  we  not 
better  go  to  the  porter’s  lodge,  and  make  some  inqui- 
ries there  ?” 

“ Oh  ! certainly.  But  you  must  not  be  surprised  if 
the  lodge,  the  portress,  and  the  idiot,  are  all  vanished, 
together  with  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  Mr.  Owny,  and  the 
chaise  and  horses.” 

The  lodge,  the  portress,  and  the  idiot,  remained, 
however,  as  they  left  them.  The  old  woman  was 
seated  upright  in  her  wretched  bed,  with  a red  petti- 
coat over  her  shoulders,  and  employed  in  knitting. 
To  the  repeated  questions  of  the  travellers,  she  re- 
plied, “ Nil  gaelig  a”  I have  no  English*  Nor  could 
either  of  them  obtain  the  least  information  from  her. 
The  idiot,  when  they  approached  her,  laughed  and 
fled.. 

Hopeless  of  information,  they  walked  back  to  the 
spot  where  the  horse  and  their  light  luggage  had  been 
left.  There  was  something  peculiarly  singular,  and 
almost  laughably  pantomimic,  in  this  adventure, 
which  amused,  though  it  almost  provoked  the  Com- 

* Literally  the  language  of  the  stranger. 


128 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


modore ; while  it  defied  conjecture  to  detect  the 
cause  of  its  occurrence.  He  had  reason  to  believe 
that  his  name  person,  and  very  existence,  were  un- 
known in  Ireland ; yet  the  league  of  the  old  woman 
and  driver  could  not  be  without  object,  nor  the  whole 
event  without  motive  : it  was  evidently  unconnected 
with  any  sordid  or  dishonest  view.  The  housekeeper 
had  not  been  remunerated  for  her  trouble,  nor  the 
driver  for  his  horses  or  attendance.  Rapid  in  his 
silent  cogitations,  and  quick  in  his  decisions,  he  at 
once  determined  that  the  object  of  this  farcial  im- 
broglio was  the  fanciful  and  accomplished  idealist, 
with  whom  he  was  accidentally  connected ; and  giving 
further  conjecture  to  the  winds,  after  a few  minutes’ 
reverie,  he  proposed  that  they  should  hail  the  fisher- 
man at  the  weir,  engage  him  to  convey  the  younger 
traveller  down  the  river,  as  near  as  he  could  to  Done- 
raile  or  Buttevant : for  himself  as  the  day  advanced, 
and  time  pressed,  he  determined  to  mount  his  Kerry 
steed,  and  proceed  by  the  mountain  route  he  had  ob- 
tained from  Owny  to  Dunore. 

To  all  these  arrangements  De  Yere  passively  as- 
sented ; and  while  the  Commodore,  with  the  activity 
of  boyhood,  bounded  down  the  precipitous  rocks  to 
beckon  the  fisherman  towards  the  shore,  his  compa- 
nion, with  folded  arms,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  vacuity, 
stood  the  image  of  one,  whom 

“ Function  is  smothered  in  surprise, 

And  nothing  is  hut  what  is  not.” 

The  events  of  his  journey  had  combined  them- 
selves in  his  mind  under  the  influence  of  the  most 
morbid  imagination,  and  the  most  inordinate  self-love. 
His  vanity  and  his  fancy  had  worked  out  a series  of 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


129 


associations  and  conjectures  most  favorable  to  the 
character  of  both.  Every  event,  every  object,  how- 
ever unimportant  in  itself,  was  by  him  wrought  into 
a miracle,  or  meditated  into  a mystery,  through  the 
medium  of  his  singularly  organized  mind.  From 
trifles  “ light  as  air,”  he  had  the  unhappy  power  of 
constructing  fabrications  of  ideal  pain  and  pleasure, 
of  flattering  or  mortifying  importance,  which  render- 
ed him  the  victim  of  delusion,  and  covered  the  pros- 
perous realities  of  his  life  with  shadows,  alike  illusory 
and  unsubstantial.  The  perverseness  of  his  journey 
from  Dublin,  the  counteraction  of  his  intentions  with 
respect  to  his  route,  the  impish  laugh  in  the  ruins  of 
Holycross,  his  unintentional  visit  to  Court  Fitzadelm, 
the  invisible  musician  of  the  Evidence  Chamber,  his 
reiterated  contact  with  the  formidable  Mrs.  Magilli- 
cuddy,  the  youthful  figure  of  the  female  associated 
with  her  at  Lis-na-sleugh,  the  masquerading  mystery 
of  the  driver,  and  above  all,  the  league  evidently  sub- 
I sisting  between  the  old  woman  and  Owny,  and  their 

I sudden  disappearance  from  Court  Fitzadelm,  unre- 
munerated for  their  respective  services ; all  these  in- 
cidents so  strange,  so  unexpected,  combined  them- 
selves in  his  meditations,  till  he  believed  himself 
caught  in  a thraldom,  like  that  “ Dove  in  clolce  pri- 
gione , Rinaldo  stassi ,”  the  object  of  some  deep-laid 
project,  of  some  romantic  design,  in  which  there 
'would  be  little  to  mortify  his  vanity,  or  to  disappoint 
his  feelings. 

He  had  resolved,  in  his  own  mind,  to  take  up  his 
residence  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Court,  and  there 
await  the  issue  of  an  adventure  of  which  he  alone 
could  be  the  object.  Notwithstanding  his  very 


180 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ardent  admiration  for  his  companion,  and  the  personal 
distinction,  and  almost  heroical  cast  of  character  and 
physiognomy  of  the  extraordinary  stranger,  it  never 
once  suggested  itself  that  he  also  might  have  had 
some  share  in  this  extraordinary  event.  He  himself 
was  alone  the  hero  of  his  own  thoughts ; and,  with 
the  hypochondriacal  egotism  of  Rousseau,  he  believed 
himself  an  object  of  occupation,  of  amity  or  enmity  to 
the  whole  world. 

This  train  of  thought  was,  however,  soon  broken,, 
by  the  return  of  the  Commodore,  followed  by  the 
fisherman,,  who  took  charge  of  his  valise,  and  stowed 
it  in  his  little  boat.  He  had  engaged  to  row  the 
younger  traveller  down  the  river,  to  its  confluence 
wdth  the  Avonheg,  which  ran  by  Doneraile,  and 
which  was  the  oft-celebrated  Mulla  of  Spenser,  where 
“ On  each  willow  hung  a muse’s  lyre.” 

But  the  the  curiosity  and  interest  excited  by  Kiieole- 
man,  the  Mole,  and  the  Mulla,  were  now  absorbed  in 
feelings  of  a profounder  emotion ; and  his  approxima- 
tion to  the  shrine  of  his  pilgrimage  no  longer  awakened 
transports  in  the  mind  of  the  fanciful  pilgrim. 

As  the  travellers  walked  together  to  the  river’s 
side,  the  elder  observed,  “T  have  been  making  in- 
quiries from  the  fisherman;  and  it  appears  that  an 
old  woman,  who  had  the  epithet  of  Protestant  Moll,* 
and  kept  the  mansion,  where  there  is  nothing  to 
tempt  to  depredation,  has  been  dead  for  some  weeks. 
The  house  is  unoccupied,  and  the  approach  by  which 
we  entered  is  the  least  frequented,  there  being  sev- 
eral others,  all  open.  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  is,  therefore,, 
some  Ariel  1 correspondent  command,’  of  a concealed 
Prospero*” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


131 


“ Ariel!”  reiterated  De  Vere;  “ the  foul  witch  Sy- 
corax,  rather.” 

“Now,  plaze  your  honor,”  said  the  boatman,  as  he 
drew  up  his  boat  close  to  a ruin,  which  he  called  the 
battery.  With  some  difficulty,  De  Vere  was  placed 
in  the  cot,  which  was  one  of  the  smallest  construction 
known  by  that  name.  The  boatman,  with  his  spoon- 
shaped paddle  fixed  against  a jutting  rock,  for  a point 
d'appui , was  pushing  offi  from  the  muddy  shore,  the 
figure  of  the  Commodore  was  thrown  into  muscular 
exertion  in  endeavoring  to  assist,  and  the  cot  was 
just  afloat,  as  he  seized  the  extended  hand  of  his  un- 
known fellow-traveller. 

“We  part,”  said  De  Vere,  in  a tone  of  emotion, 
“ almost  as  we  met.” 

“ Almost,”  replied  the  Commodore,  returning  the 
strong  pressure  of  his  hand,  with  a grasp  still  stronger, 
but  in  a tone  not  firmer. 

“Farewell,  farewell!”  repeated  De  Vere,  as  the 
boat  cleared  the  banks ; and  he  moved  his  hat,  with 
an  air  of  almost  affectionate  respect,  half  repressed  by 
habitual  apathy. 

“ Farewell !”  r earned  the  Commodore,  with  a 
mingled  expression  of  courteousness  and  cordiality, 
returning  the  salute. 

The  little  bark  glided  into  the  centre  of  the  sunny 
stream.  He  whom  it  left  behind  in  scenes  so  dreary 
ascended  the  point  of  a rock,  which  commanded  the 
winding  of  the  river : his  eye  pursued  the  cot,  as  its 
paddles  threw  up  the  sparkling  waters,  and  as  it  ap- 
peared and  disappeared  amongst  the  projecting  cliffs, 
or  glided  under  the  shady  alders,  fringing  the  lovely 
shores  of  the  Avon-Fienne.  It  soon  became  a black 


1S2 


FLORENCE  MACARTST. 


speck  in  the  water,  and  finally  disappeared  in  a bend 
of  the  river. 

The  Commodore,  with  a short  involuntary  sigh, 
turned  away  his  dazzled  gaze.  The  gloomy,  desolate 
demesne  of  Court  Fitzadelm  spread  around  him — he 
the  sole  occupant.  “ Alone !”  he  exclaimed  aloud — - 
“ once  more  alone,  and  where  ?”  He  glanced  eagerly, 
anxiously,  almost  wildly  round  him.  His  respiration 
was  short : emotions,  long  repressed,  seemed  to  find 
vent : he  threw  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  clasped 
his  hands,  almost  convulsively : years  and  scenes  of 
distance  and  remoteness  passed,  in  thick  coming 
visions  before  his  coming;  then  by  a sudden  effort  of 
volition,  as  one 

“ Not  framed  upon  the  torture  of  the  mind 
To  lie  in  restless  ecstacy,” 

he  changed  at  once  his  mode  of  thought,  and  elevated 
position;  and  descending  rapidly  from  the  rock, 
sprung  upon  his  horse,  galloped  towards  the  dis- 
mantled park  wall,  cleared  it  at  a leap,  and  proceeded 
on  his  way  to  the  Peninsula  of  Dunore. 

Whatever  was  the  mission  of  this  mysterious  visit- 
ant, to  a country  for  which  he  evinced  so  deep  an  in- 
terest, he  seemed  to  forbid  time’s  anticipation  of  his 
views ; and  in  all  things,  and  upon  all  occasions,  ap- 
peared habitually  to  act  as  one  who  thought 
“ The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o’ertook, 

Unless  the  deed  go  with  it,” 


CHAPTER  V. 


I never  may  believe  these  antique  fables, 

These  fairy  toys. 

Midsummer’s  Night’s  Dream. 

But  I have  cause  to  pry  into  this  pendant. 

Taming  of  the  Shrew. 

The  Commodore  pursued  his  solitary  way  to  the 
Peninsula  of  Dunore  with  as  much  rapidity  as  the 
nature  of  this  mountainous  road  would  admit.  He 
had  inquired  the  route  both  from  the  baccah  and  the 
driver ; and  to  their  various,  and  not  always  accord- 
ant instructions,  clearly  arranged  in  his  memory,  he 
added  his  own  judgment,  and  such  information  as  he 
could  occasionally  glean  from  the  passengers  he  acci- 
dentally met.  These,  however,  were  few ; for  as  he 
proceeded  among  the  mountains,  by  roads  only  pas- 
sable during  the  autumn,  the  population  was  so  scanty, 
that  in  the  course  of  many  miles,  ambled  over  by  his 
admirable  little  steed,  he  met  only  with  three  indivi- 
duals ; a boy  carrying  a couple  of  chickens  for  sale  to 
a distant  market,  a woman  with  a few  hanks  of  yarn, 
proceeding  to  the  same  rustic  emporium,  and  a priest, 
bearing  the  viaticum  to  a dying  penitent,  whose 
temptations  to  err,  amid  scenes  of  such  privation, 
could  not  have  been  very  numerous. 

The  priest  courteously  joined,  and  accompanied  the 
lonely  traveller  on  his  route ; and  might  have  been 
deemed  an  acceptable  cicerone  in  a region  which, 


134 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY* 


however  rude  and  savage,  was  not  wholly  destitute 
of  something  like  classic  interest.  In  the  dialect  and 
accent  of  the  province,  intermingled  with  a few 
French  and  a few  Latin  words,  he  pointed  out,  here 
a Cromlech,  and  there  a cairne,  a Danish  fort,  or  a 
monastic  ruin ; and  added  such  scraps  of  antiquarian 
tradition  as  are  to  be  found,  even  in  the  remotest 
places  in  Ireland.  The  legend  of  St.  Gian’s  cap  was 
repeated,  as  a distant  view  was  caught  of  St.  Gian’s 
Abbey.  Its  miraculous  efficacy,  still  acknowledged 
by  the  peasantry,  and  the  belief  of  its  having  returned 
of  itself  to  the  spot  whence  (though  composed  of  an 
immense  hollow  stone)  it  had  been  removed,  were 
circumstantially  recorded.  One  of  the  defile  castles 
of  the  great  Maearthies,  The  Fairie’s  Rock,  or  Carig- 
na-Souky,  was  pointed  out,  in  the  distance,  on  the 
summit  of  a cliff,  which  hung  above  the  ravine  it 
guarded.  The  ruins  of  St.  Gobnate’s  Church,  rather 
guessed  at  than  clearly  distinguished,  introduced  the 
legend  of  that  fair  saint,  with  the  episode  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  stone  cross,  still  extant  among  its  ruinsy 
where  a far-famed  rood  of  the  Virgin  was  once  kept, 
and  where  still  a stone,  fixed  near  it  in  the  earth, 
exhibits  the  impression  of  many  a penitent  pilgrim’s 
bended  knee. 

For  the  rest,  the  communicative  and  courteous 
priest  gave  the  Commodore  some  excellent  instruc- 
tions as  to  his  future  route,  and  lamented  that  he  had 
not  taken  a road,  which,  though  more  circuitous  by 
nearly  a day’s  journey,  was  far  less  intricate  than  the 
one  he  had  chosen.  This  he  asserted  to  be  a bird’s 
flight  route  from  the  north  to  the  south  of  the  coun- 
try, a bridle- way  or  car-track,  cut,  time  immemorial, 

I 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY 


135 


by  the  mountaineers,  for  the  purposes  of  rural  econo- 
my, and  communicating  among  the  neighboring  dis- 
tricts. 

At  the  conjunction  of  four  of  these  mountain  defiles, 
marked  by  a large  stone  cross,  placed  over  a holy 
well  hung  with  ragged  offerings,  the  priest  departed, 
with  a cordial  benedicite , and  a bow  learned  in  his 
French  college,  some  thirty  years  before,  but  not  yet 
forgotten  in  the  wild  scenes,  where  his  laborious  and 
ill-requited  calling  placed  him. 

The  traveller,  again  left  alone,  proceeded  by  the 
direction  of  the  priest  to  a little  mountainous  village, 
called  the  Town  of  the  Beloved,  in  Irish,  Bally-na- 
vourna.  It  was  silent  and  solitary,  and  seemed  to 
sleep  in  the  noontide  sunshine,  as  if  placed  there  only 
to  form  a pretty  feature  in  the  romantic  scenery.  Its 
inhabitants  were  all  abroad  in  a neighboring  valley, 
getting  in  their  scanty  harvest.  When  the  Commo- 
dore, after  resting  and  bating  his  horse  at  a little 
public  house,  lost  sight  of  its  moss-covered  roofs  and 
curling  smoke,  no  further  vestige  of  human  habita- 
tion cheered  his  sight  for  many  hours.  Meantime  his 
road  became  every  moment  more  rugged,  wild  and 
difficult.  The  extraordinary  instinct  of  the  little  ani- 
mal upon  which  he  was  mounted  (and  which  seemed 
as  peculiarly  organized  for  the  region  it  occupied  as 
is  the  camel  for  the  desert,  or  the  reindeer  for  the 
snows  of  Lapland),  excited  an  admiration  not  unmixed 
with  gratitude  and  respect.  The  traveller,  rather 
abandoning  himself  to  its  guidance,  than  attempting 
to  direct  its  steps,  fearlessly  permitted  it  to  climb 
among  the  rugged  rocks,  to  skim  over  trembling  bogs 
and  sloughy  morasses : it  still  preserved  its  pleasant 


136 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


ambling  pace,  where  other  horses  would  have  sunk 
knee-deep,  and  was  able  to  proceed  where  they  would 
have  perished. 

The  sun  was  now  hastening  to  its  goal ; the  few 
birds  of  prey  which  inhabit  these  elevated  regions 
were  returning  to  their  eyries  among  the  rocks.  The 
traveller  had  still  to  seek  the  landmarks,  which  the 
priest  had  described  as  designating  his  descent  to  the 
Peninsula  of  Dunore.  He  indeed  caught  glimpses 
of  the  Atlantic  ocean,  through  the  interstices  of  the 
mountains ; but  the  evening  shadows  were  gathering 
in  vapors  beneath  his  feet,  as  he  descended,  and  yet 
he  approached  not  the  mountain’s  base.  That  he  had 
missed  his  way,  and  might  be  benighted  in  a region 
so  desolate,  had  suggested  itself  as  a possibility ; and 
he  alighted  for  the  purpose  of  ascending  a high  cliff, 
which  seemed  to  command  a vast  extent  Of  prospect, 
to  ascertain  his  exact  position. 

As  he  was  in  the  act  of  fastening  his' horse’s  bridle 
to  th£  stump  of  a furze  bush,  sounds,  measured  and 
mechanical,  met  his  ear,  and  spoke  of  human  prox- 
imity ; they  came  from  a little  glen,  near  whose  en- 
trance he  stood.  A narrow  bridle-way,  leading 
through  a deep  ravine,  presented  itself : on  the  sum- 
mit of  a stupendous  rock,  some  fragments  of  a ruin 
were  visible;  and  beneath,  seated  in  a sort  of  dry 
dyke,  appeared  a man  occupied  in  scraping  away  with 
a sharp  flint  the  lichens  and  mosses  which  incrusted 
a large  angular  stone,  in  order  to  decipher  an  inscrip- 
tion which  he  was  endeavoring  to  copy.  The  char- 
acters were  Irish,  and  beneath  appeared  a translation, 
in  not  very  pure  Latin,  intimating  that  “ near  to  this 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


187 


PLACE,  AT  THE  CASTLE  OE  MACARTHY,  THE  STRANGER  WILL 
RECEIVE  AN  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  WELCOMES.”* 

The  person  who  was  engaged  in  this  antiquarian 
occupation  was  so  intent  upon  his  task,  that  the  ap- 
proach of  a stranger  was  unobserved : the  Commo- 
dore stood  gazing  upon  him  with  a look  of  singular 
and  marked  expression,  as  if  he  too  was  penetrating 
through  the  veil  of  time,  and  gradually  recalling 
traces  and  deciphering  lineaments,  which  its  moulder- 
ing finger  had  touched  with  decay,  but  not  wholly 
defaced.  There  was  an  emotion  of  tenderness  soften- 
ing his  countenance,  as  he  gazed,  foreign  to  its 
habitual  expression ; and  when,  leaning  forward, 
he  read  aloud  the  Latin,  and  added  the  comment  of — 
“ I believe  there  is  a false  concord  in  that  sentence,” 
his  full  deep  voice  wanted  its  usual  tone  of  firmness 
and  decision. 

As  he  spoke,  the  flint  dropped  from  the  hand  of  the 
solitary  sage,  and  he  remained  for  a moment  in  the 
motionless  position  of  surprise,  tinctured  with  appre- 
hension, as  if  some  “ airy  voice,  that  syllables  men’s 
names,”  had  suddenly  addressed  his  unexpecting  ear. 

The  traveller  saw  the  effect  he  had  produced,  and 
endeavored  to  counteract  its  consequences  by  as- 
suming a careless  and  familiar  tone. 

* “ I beg  your  pardon,”  he  said,  “ for  this  intrusion 

on  your  learned  researches : I am  a stranger  in  this 
country,  and  I fear  have  lost  my  way ; I wish  to  reach 
the  town  of  Dunore  before  nightfall,  and  you  will  ren- 
der me  a service  by  pointing  out  to  me  the  nearest 
road.” 

* A similar  inscription  was  found  in  a ditch  near  the  ruined 
castle  of  the  Macswines  in  Munster, 


I 


138 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


This  speech,  evidently,  recalled  courage  and  confi- 
dence iii  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed;  and  he 
slowly  arose,  putting  the  flint  into  his  pocket,  a cork 
into  the  ink-horn  pendant  from  his  button-hole,  and 
fastening  a roll  of  paper  and  a pen  into  the  cord  of 
his  hat^  while  he  repeated : 

“ A false  concord,  sure  enough;— a stranger  in  the 
country !” 

He  was  now  on  his  feet:  the  Commodore  stood 
opposite  to  him,  with  his  back  to  the  setting  sun,  his 
figure  cutting  darkly  against  its  brightness ; his  face 
and  features  in  deep  shadow.  The  yellow  light  of  the 
illuminated  horizon  bronzed  the  grotesque  figure  of 
him  on  whom  he  gazed.  This  person  was  of  a low 
and  clumsy  stature ; but,  though  evidently  passed  the 
middle  age  of  life,  was  still  strong  and  hale  ; the  deep 
crimson  of  health  burned  on  his  slightly  furrowed 
cheek ; and  his  countenance  gave  indications  of  mingled 
simplicity  and  acuteness.  There  was  also  a certain  in- 
describable, quaint,  solemn,  dogmatizing  importance  in 
his  look,  and  a wandering  wildness  in  his  eye,  which 
were  curiously  and  strongly  contrasted;  while  his 
costume  added  to  the  characteristic  peculiarity  of  his 
person.  A very  small  wig  of  goat’s  hair  surmounted 
a few  thick,  bushy  gray  locks,  which  curled  round  his 
short  neck,  for  his  shirt  collar  was  thrown  open,  and 
three  coats  of  frieze,  of  various  colors,  excluded,  like 
the  cloak  of  the  fabulist,  both  wind  and  sun.  As  he 
now  stood,  affecting  to  button  up  these  coats,  one 
after  the  other,  he  was,  in  fact,  earnestly  engaged  in 
endeavoring  to  make  out  the  traveller’s  features,  on 
which  his  eyes  were  intently  fixed. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


139 


“ It’s  long,”  lie  at  last  observed,  “ since  your  honor 
was  in  these  parts.” 

u I never  have  been  in  this  district  before,”  was  the 
reply. 

“ Haven’t  you,  sir  ? then  I renag  e*  my  remark,  and 
requist  your  honor’s  pardon.  I’ll  show  you  the  way 
to  Dunore,  sir.  I’m  going  it  every  rood  myself,  and 
lives  a donny  taste  beyont  it.” 

As  he  spoke,  he  shifted  his  position,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  obtaining  a better  view  of  the  stranger’s  face  ; 
but  apparently,  in  order  to  draw  forth  a ragged  colt 
from  a rocky  shed  : the  Commodore  at  the  same  mo- 
ment shifted  his,  and  led  forward  his  Kerry  steed. 

“ That’s  a reyal  Asturiones ,”  observed  his  new  com- 
panion, “ and  comes  of  a breed  of  jennets,  brought 
over  by  us  from  Spain,  on  our  way  from  Phoenicia : 
they  are  named  Hobillers  by  Paulus  J ovius,  and  Auto- 
mates by  Toumefort:  they  are  of  pace  aisy,  and  in 
ambling  wondrous  swift.  It’s  little  the  English  Ed- 
ward would  have  done  at  the  seige  of  Calais  but  for 
them  same  Irish  Hoblers.  Not  that  we  were  be* 
holden  to  the  likes  of  them,  having  our  war  steeds 
and  our  chariots, 

• Infroenant  alii  currus  aut  corpora  saltu 
Subjiciunt  in  equos.’  ” 

He  was  now  mounted  on  the  back  of  his  own 
steed ; and  his  eyes  were  turned  with  a fixed  look  on 
the  Commodore’s  marked  profile,  who  rode  with  his 
head  somewhat  averted  beside  him;  the  view  he  thus 
obtained  was  dim  and  uncertain ; but  still  it  seemed 
to  fix  his  attention.  There  was,  as  he  gazed,  an  un- 
certainty in  his  look ; a something  of  slow,  doubtful, 

* Renage,  revoke,  recall. 


140 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


vague  recognition,  as  if  the  faint  and  indistinct  re- 
semblance of  some  features,  once  known,  were  cross- 
ing his  apprehension, — now  lost,  now  caught, — deter- 
mined by  a light,  a shadow,  or  a motion ; and  flitting 
as  soon  as  seized.  As  they  descended  into  the  deep- 
ening twilight  of  the  glen,  the  obscurity  of  half-for- 
gotten traits  thickened  into  darkness  ; the  clue  of  as- 
sociation was  lost,  and  the  hitherto  silent  spectator 
withdrew  his  eyes,  with  the  simple  observation : 

“ I could  swear  upon  my  soul’s  savetie,  that  I had 
seen  your  honor  afore,  sir : I disremembers  me  where; 
but  that  cometh  of  my  memory,  which  faileth  me  for 
present  things, — forgetting  by  times  that  my  own 
name  is  Terence  Oge  O’Leary,  which  is  remarkable.” 

“ O’Leary !”  re-echoed  the  Commodore,  in  a voice 
of  almost  boyish  softness  and  extreme  emotion. 

“ Who  calls  ?”  exclaimed  O’Leary,  wildly,  and  sud- 
denly checking  his  horse : “ Who  calls  ?”  he  repeated, 
turning  full  round,  and  throwing  his  strained  and 
wandering  eye  in  every  direction. 

“•It  was  I who  repeated  the  name  you  announced 
to  me,  Mr.  O’Leary,”  said  the  Commodore,  in  an  al- 
tered and  careless  tone. 

“Was  it,  your  honor?”  resumed  O’Leary,  after  a 
pause,  and  a deep  inspiration.  “ I thought  it  sound- 
ed like  a voice  I sometimes  hear  close  in  my  ear,  sir, 
when  I am  alone  in  the  mountains.  They  tell  me  ’tis 
my  fetch  ;*  but  I have  heard  it  these  twenty  years, 
and  am  to  the  fore  still — it’s  no  fetch,”  he  added  with 
a deep  sigh : “ it’s  only  an  ould  remembrance.” 

* It  is  a common  superstition  in  Ireland  to  believe  that  a 
mysterious  voice  heard  in  lonely  places  gives  notice  of  approach- 
’ ing  death — it  is  called  a fetch. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


141 


His  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  and  they  proceeded 
in  silence  to  the  edge  of  the  glen,  which  terminated 
abruptly  in  a sloping  surface  of  rich  and  mossy  turf : 
beyond,  the  sea-bathed  track  of  land,  called  the 
Peninsula  of  Dunore,  spread  at  the  mountain’s  foot, 
extending  to  the  ocean,  undulating  with  green  slopes 
intermingled  with  rocky  elevations,  and  combining 
many  views  of  maritime  and  inland  scenery,  eminent- 
ly beautiful  and  romantic.  The  descent,  however, 
was  so  ste^p,  and  so  difficult  from  its  smoothness, 
that  the  travellers  alighted  and  led  their  horses. 

“ There,  forenent  you,  lieth  Dunore,  as  it  is  called 
now,”  said  O'Leary,  with  emphasis ; “ one  of  the 
tongues  of  land  on  the  coast  of  Munster,  so  named 
by  one  Mr.  Camden,  a Saxon  churl.  But  its  true  and 
ancient  name  is  Danganny-Carthy,  the  fastness  of  the 
Macarthies,  the  kings  of  the  country  round,  of  the 
Coriandri  and  the  Desmondii,  and  blood  relations  to 
the  Tyrian  Hercules,  every  mother’s  son  of  them.” 

“ Indeed  ! that  is  an  illustrious  descent.” 

“ Troth,  and  deed ; for  was  not  Malech-Cartha  the 
King  of  Tyre,  says  ould  Bochart ; which  manes 
Malacchi  Macarthy ; that’s  plain,  I believe,  anyhow  : 
and  defies  Geraldus  Cambrensis,  Dr.  Ledwich,  and 
Sir  Richard  Musgrave,  with  ould  Saxo  Grammaticus 
to  boot,  to  deny  that : and  would  have  been  kings  of 
Desmond  to  this  very  hour,  if  right  was  afore  might ; 
and  only  for  the  enticing  bates  of  the  English  to  en- 
trap them  in  their  politics,  their  plots,  and  their  com- 
plots — their  playing  fast  and  loose,  their  English 
earldoms  and  English  patents,  their  grantees,  and 
protectees,  and  governorships,  until  the  Macarthies 
degenerated  with  the  rest,  from  their  ancestors,  and 


142 


FLORENCE  MACAETHY. 


never  rose  to  great  power  from  that  day  forth — that’s 
Florence  Macarthy  I mane,  the  Fogh-na-gall , the 
Englishman’s  hate,*  elected  to  the  style  and  authority 
of  Macarthy  More,  1599,  even  after  he  descended  to 
be  made  Earl  Clancare,  anno  1565,  Elizab.  Reginse 
sex.” 

“ Florence  ?”  said  the  Commodore,  dwelling  with 
a peculiar  expression  on  the  name.  “ Florence  then 
is  a name  given  both  to  the  males  and  females  of  this 
illlustrious  family  ?” 

“ It  is,  plaze  your  honor,  and  comes  from  the  Span- 
ish name  Florianus,  which  the  Macarthies  brought 
with  them  on  their  way  from  Scythia,  as  also  the 
O’Sullivan  Bears.” 

V 

“ It  is  an  Italian  name  also  ; and  one  Florianus  del 
Campo  has,  I believe,  written  on  this  country,”  said 
the  Commodore. 

“He  has,  sir, — belied  the  land, like  the  rest  of  them,” 
replied  O’Leary. 

“ The  Macarthies  followed  the  fortunes  of  the 
House  of  Stuart,  I believe,  Mr.  O’Leary ; at  least  I 
have  somewhere  read  so.” 

“ They  did,  sir,  to  their  great  moan.  Of  all  the  re- 
giments after  the  surrender  of  Conde,  Maearthy’s 
alone  refused  entering  the  Spanish  service,  till  their 
colonel  got  his  dismissal  in  France,  from  the  ra’al 
King  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland.” 

“ They  have,  however,  since  distinguished  them- 
selves in  the  service  of  Spain ; and  even  in  the  popu- 
lar cause  of  South  America.” 

“ They  have,  sir,  and  everywhere  but  at  home,  God 
help  ’em,  for  a raison  they  have.” 

* The  foe  of  the  stranger. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


143 


“Do  any  of  the  family  now  remain  in  this  country  ?” 

“None  at  all,”  said  O’Leary;  and  then,  after  a 
pause,  added  “ barring  the  Bhan-Tierna , who  isn't  in 
it  at  this  present.” 

“ Ha ! I have  heard  that  epithet,  accompanied  by 
blessings  in  the  mountains  of  the  Galtees : to  whom 
does  it  belong?” 

“ To  whom  does  it  belong,  is  it  ? — why,  to  whom 
should  it,  but  to  the  great,  ould,  ancient  Countess  of 
Clancare,  anno  1565,  Elizabeth®  6.  But  sure  what 
signifies  talking  about  them  now.  You  may  see  it  all 
in  my  Geneaological  History  of  the  Macarthy  More, 
written  in  the  Phoenician  tongue,  vulgo  vocato  Irish, 
it  being  more  precise  and  copious  than  the  English, 
and  other  barbarous  dialects ; also  sharp  and  senten- 
tious, offering  great  occasion  to  quick  apothegm,  and 
proper  allusion ; the  only  pure  dialect  remaining  of 
the  seventy-two  languages  of  Babel,  introduced  into 
Ireland  by  Finiusa  Tarsa,  the  son  of  Magog,  King  of 
Scythia,  from  his  own  seminary  of  Magh-Seanair,  near 
Athens  ; and  is  to  this  day  the  ould  language  spoken 
by  Hannibal,  Hamilcar,  Asdrubal,  and  the  Macarthies 
More  of  county  Cork  and  Kerry,  anciently  Desmond 
— and  taught  in  my  seminary  in  the  ould  preceptory 
of  Monaster-ny-Oriel,  according  to  the  Bethluisnion-* 
na-Ogma,  with  Latin  and  Greek,  and  other  modern 
dialects.” 

“And  yet,”  said  the  Commodore,  with  an  half-re- 
pressed smile,  “ there  are  some  skeptics  of  opinion 
that  there  has  always  existed  a certain  identity  be- 
tween the  Irish  and  the  Anglo-Saxon ; that  in  fact  the 
Irish  received  their  ancient  alphabet  from  the  Britons; 
and  that  their  pretensions  to  an  Eastern  origin  is  a 


144 


FLORENCE  HACARTIIY. 


groundless  notion,  generated  in  ignorance,  and  idly 
cherished  by  a mistaken  patriotism,  which  might  bo 
better  directed.” 

“ Oh  murther !”  exclaimed  O’Leary,  clasping  his 
hands  : “ the  thieves  of  the  world !” 

0 tribus  Anticyris  caput  insanabile  !” 

Then  suddenly  mounting  his  horse,  with  a look  of 
mingled  indignation  and  pity,  directed  at  his  unknown 
companion,  he  added,  pointing  to  a road  which  wound 
down  a woody  hill,  “ there’s  your  vray,  sir,  to  Dunore 
town.  If  you  crass  the  river  at  Bally  dab  bridge,  you 
can’t  miss  it.” 

He  was  trotting  off,  muttering  to  himself  some 
broken  exclamations  in  Irish,  when  the  Commodore, 
who  also  had  resumed  his  horse,  followed  him,  and 
said . 

“ In  detailing  the  opinions  of  others,  I do  not  give 
them  to  you,  Mr.  O’Leary,  as  my  own  : you  are  to  ob- 
serve, I speak  not  to  dictate,  but  to  learn.” 

“ Why,  then,  sir,”  said  O’Leary,  soothed  by  this 
conciliatory  observation,  “I’d  be  loath  to  see  the  likes 
of  you,  or  any  gentleman,  enticed  by  them  traitors  of 
the  world,  who  come  as  espials  on  the  land,  and  go 
forth  to  defame  it;  for  sorrow  one  of  them  English 
but  hate  Ireland  in  their  hearts ; and  there’s  an  ould 
saying  in  Irish,  which  manes,  ‘ keep  clear  of  an  Eng- 
lishman, for  he  is  on  the  watch  to  deceive  you.’  I 
wouldn’t  give  a testoon*  for  the  whole  boiling  of 
them,  troth,  I wouldn’t.  The  Irish  not  brought  over 
by  our  Celtic  Scythian  ancestors ! Bachal  essu  /f 

* An  old  Spanish  coin,  once  current  in  Ireland. 

fThe  name  of  the  celebrated  staff  of  St.  Patrick.  An  usual 
exclamation. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


145 


they  might  as  well  take  St.  Patrick  from  us,  and  deny 
that  the  potato  is  the  plant  of  the  soil.'5 

“ I am  afraid,  Mr.  O Leary,  they  would  go  near  to 
do  both.” 

“ Oh ! very  well,  sir : I see  you  are  one  of  them 
that  would  go  ould  Strabo  on  us,  and  Saxo  Gramma- 
ticus, and  Dr.  Ledwich.” 

“ Nay,  I speak  as  one  ignorant  of  the  subject,  and 
desirous  to  obtain  information.  If  there  were  now, 
as  formerly,  such  seminaries  to  study  in  as  the  school 
of  Ross  Alethri,*  or  such  sages  to  study  under  as 
those  sought  for  by  the  learned  Monk  Ealfrith,  who 
came  from  Britain  for  that  purpose,  I should  like  to 
become  his  disciple.” 

“ To  say  nothing,”  said  O’Leary,  “ of  Agelbert, 
bishop  of  the  west  Saxons,  Alfred,  king  of  Northum- 
berland, and  the  blessed  father  Egbert,  and  the  saintly 
brother  Wiglert,  who,  for  the  love  of  the  celestial 
isle,  quit  their  kin  and  country,  and  retired  to  Ireland 
to  study.”  • 

“But  what  cell,”  asked  the  Commodore  with 
emphasis,  “ what  preceptory,  what  academy  is  there 
now  open  to  the  lover  of  Irish  antiquities,  where 
learning  and  retirement  could  for  an  adequate  com- 
pensation be  obtained  together  by  a stranger,  who 
thirsts  for  both  ?” 

“ There  is,”  said  O’Leary,  after  a short  pause,  and 
in  a voice  full  of  importance,  as  he  drew  up  close  to 
his  companion,  “ there  is,  plaze  your  honor,  a place 
called  the  Monaster-ny-Oriel — an  old  ruin,  but  a larned 
retreat.  And  if  there  was  a gentleman  who,  for  the 
love  of  Ireland,  would  put  up  with  homely  fare,  and 

* Tlie  Field  of  Pilgrimage. 


346 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


be  satisfied  to  be  housel’d  with  an  old  Senachy,  or 
genealogist,  why,  then— — ” 

“ O’Leary,”  said  the  Commodore,  laying  his  hand 
familiarly  on  his  shoulder,  and  eagerly  interrupting 
him,  “ should  you  receive  me  as  your  guest  and  dis- 
ciple, you  wnll  find  me  not  difticult  to  accommodate. 
My  ostensible  business  in  this  barony  is  with  a certain 
Mr.  Crawley,  but— — ” 

“ With  who  ?”  asked  O’Leary,  recoiling  in  horror : 
“ with  one  Crawley,  did  you  say  ?” 

“ With  Mr.  Crawley,  of  Mount  Crawley.” 

“ With  him,  the  land  pirate  ! Then,  sir,  you  cannot 
housel  with  me,  and  so  I wish  you  luck !” 

With  these  w~ords,  O’Leary,  spurring  on  his  little 
nag,  trotted  abruptly  down  a craggy  glen,  and  disap- 
peared. The  Commodore  stood  looking  after  him 
till  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  marked  the  path  he  had 
taken;  then,  with  a deep-drawn  inspiration  (as  one 
who,  after  some  enforced  restraint,  breathes  freely), 
and  with  a smile  almost  characterized  by  sadness,  he 
bent  his  course  towards  the  town  of  Dunore. 

As  the  descent  of  the  mountain  softened  into  an 
undulating  valley,  th£  approach  to  this  town  became 
extremely  picturesque.  The  conjunction  of  many 
mountain  streams  formed  a considerable  river,  which 
flowed  under  the  single  arch  of  an  antique  bridge, 
covered  with  ivy,  and  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the 
poor  but  pretty  village,  announced  by  a turf-carrier 
(in  answer  to  the  Commodore’s  question)  to  be  Bally- 
dab.  A rude  bleak  mountain,  which  overshadowed 
this  village,  and  projected  into  the  sea,  formed  a bold 
headland. 

At  the  distance  of  two  Irish  miles,  the  road  joined 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


147 


the  high  road  from  Cork  and  Dublin,  and  wound  to 
the  left  of  a group  of  new,  unfinished  houses,  the  em- 
bryo of  some  rising  town,  haply  intended  to  eclipse 
the  fading  glory  of  the  decaying  and  ancient  village 
of  Ballydab.  Within  a mile  of  Dunore,  the  road  pro- 
ceeded by  the  edge  of  the  bay,  at  the  head  of  which 
the  town  stood,  and  then  appeared  to  wind  along  the 
coast.  The  town  itself  (once  of  note,  and  of  histori- 
cal interest)  was  approached  by  a stately  avenue  of 
trees.  Its  ancient  but  well-preserved  castle  termi- 
nated its  narrow  street,  and  presented  a striking  fea- 
ture in  a scene  then  tinted  by  the  silvery  rays  of  a 
cloudless  moon.  The  castle  casements  were  lighted 
with  a fairy  illumination  by  its  beams;  and  the  rip- 
pling tide,  tinged  with  the  same  coloring,  gave  a gen- 
tle motion  to  a few  fishing  vessels,  which  alone  occu- 
pied a port  once  of  considerable  trade  with  the  oppo- 
site shores  of  Spain,  Portugal  and  Italy. 

As  the  Commodore  rode  up  the  street,  it  was 
already  still  and  noiseless,  save  the  barking  of  a dog, 
which  the  echo  of  the  horse's  feet  had  roused.  Two 
lanterns  in  the  front  of  two  opposite  houses  marked 
the  site  of  the  rival  inns.  That  to  the  right  had  a 
new  and  gaudy  sign  flaunting  in  the  breeze;  and 
under  a profusion  of  gilding,  yellow  ochre  and  white- 
lead,  was  written  “ The  New  Dunore  Arms.” 

The  faded  sign  of  its  inferior  competitor  exhibited 
a dancing  bear,  scarcely  distinguishable,  under  which 
was  written  in  large,  fresh  black  letters,  “ This  is  the 
real  ould  Marquis  of  Dunore.”  The  Commodore 
chose  the  real  old  Marquis;  and  a tolerable  supper, 
and  a clean  bed,  left  him  nothing  to  repent  of  his 
election. 


148 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


The  next  morning,  fatigued  by  his  mountain  ride, 
he  rose  late,  and  was  surprised  to  find  upon  his 
breakfast-table  a note,  directed  “ To  his  honor,  the 
gentleman  at  the  ould  Bear,  who  arrived  last  night, 
these.”  He  opened  and  read  as  follows : 

Right  Honorable, 

According  to  the  advisement  of  my  better  judg- 
ment, I herein  complie  with  your  requist  this  tyme, 
in  regard  of  the  lodgement  in  the  Friar’s  room ; vi- 
delicet Fra  Denis  O'Sullivan,  Superior  of  the  Order, 
now  in  Portugal,  via  Cork,  where  he  bides  at  this 
present  writing,  pending  the  visitation;  he  being 
likely  to  put  the  autumn  over  in  foreign  parts.  The 
place  thereby  being  vaquent,  the  fioor  clean  sanded, 
and  the  stone  belted  window  giving  on  the  sea-coast, 
ill-befitting  your  honor,  howsomever,  or  your  likes, 
being  righte  worthie  of  Dunore  Castle,  which  is  no- 
thing to  nobody,  sithe  your  honor  think  it  fit. 
Touchinge  the  pintion  thereof,  should  your  honor 
consent  to  housel  with  me,  it  shall  be  left  to  your 
honor’s  liberalities ; the  lucre  of  gain,  but  little 
weighing ; and  if  there  be  juste  cause  of  complaynte 
touchinge  ye  unruiiness  of  my  scholars,  or  any  rab- 
blement  on  the  part  of  them  young  but  larned  runa- 
gates, they  shall,  on  your  honor’s  so  deposing  before 
me,  their  plagosus  Orbilius,  undergoe  chastisement 
in  due  austeritie : so  praying  an  answer  forthwith 
I remaine, 

With  humble  commendations, 

Your  honor’s  dutiful  servant, 

Terentixjs  0/se  O’Leary. 

From  my  Freccptory , 

Monaster -ny-  Oriel . 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


149 


Whatever  might  have  caused  this  sudden  revolu- 
tion in  the  sentiments  of  Mr.  O'Leary,  it  evidently 
excited  much  pleasure  in  the  person  in  whose  favor 
it  had  occurred ; and,  on  learning  that  one  of  O'Lea- 
ry’s academicians,  or  “ larned  runagates,'’  awaited 
an  answer,  he  sent  hack  a verbal  one,  intimating  his 
intention  of  riding  over  immediately  to  the  Precep- 
tory  of  Monaster-ny-Oriel  after  he  had  taken  his 
breakfast. 

On  passing  through  the  town,  on  his  way  to 
O'Leary’s,  the  Commodore  was  struck  not  only  with 
the  antiquity,  but  with  the  Spanish  character  of  its 
architecture. 

The  castle,  raised  on  a rocky  elevation,  and  look- 
ing down  upon  the  town,  had,  in  the  course  of  cen- 
turies, lost  nothing  of  its  feudal  character.  Massive 
and  heavy,  this  ancient  edifice  formed  a perfect  pa- 
rallelogram, with  five  flankers ; its  battlements,  belt- 
ings and  coigmes,  were  of  hewn  stone;  and  its 
strength  and  magnitude  were,  as  far  back  as  Eliza- 
beth, so  formidable,  that  the  queen  was  induced  to 
think  it  too  considerable  a hold  to  belong  to  any 
Irish  subject. 

The  castle,  town  and  manor  of  Dunore,  were  given 
to  Hildebrand,  first  Viscount  of  Dunore,  (a  connexion 
of  the  great  Lord  Boyle’s,)  by  grant  of  James  the 
First.  The  English  lord  completed  the  ramparts, 
which,  under  his  jurisdiction,  were  no  longer  causes 
of  jealousy.  He  also  planned  the  ancient  bawn,* 
made  a stately  avenue  of  trees  from  the  town  to  its 

* The  bawn  was  an  inclosed  piece  of  ground,  reserved  for  the 
purposes  of  recreation  and  exercise.  Swift’s  Hamilton’s  bawn 
was  one  of  these  Irish  vergers . 


150 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


portals,  and  placed  above  the  arch  of  its  entrance,  in 
letters  cut  in  stone,  and  still  perfectly  legible — 

“ God  s providence 
Is  my  inheritance.77 

He  had  also  expelled  the  friars  of  Monaster-ny- 
Oriel,  one  of  the  communities  which,  like  many 
others  still  subsisting  in  Ireland,  had  never  been  sup- 
pressed; and  he  devoted  its  revenue  for  the  pin- 
money  of  his  daughter-in-law  ;*  but  still  from  time 
to  time  some  of  the  Order  were  found  congregating 
among  the  ruins  of  the  building,  in  obedience  to  the 
rules  of  the  Order,  forbidding  the  entire  dispersion 
of  its  members. 

One  of  his  descendants,  William,  second  Earl  of 
Dunore,  had  visited  the  castle,  on  a tour  to  the  south, 
which  he  made  during  his  viceregency  of  Ireland. 
The  present  marquis,  the  eldest  of  two  twin  brothers, 
had  early  in  life  suffered  his  susceptible  imagination  to 
dwell  on  some  affecting  and  curious  relations  of  the 
ancient  and  actual  state  of  Ireland.  Impressions  thus 
received  wrought  on  his  mind  with  an  influence  pro- 
portioned to  the  unhappy  malady,  which  now  first 
betrayed  itself  in  many  symptoms  : of  these  his  sym- 
pathy for  Ireland,  and  his  determination  to  reside 
in  what  he  perpetually  called  “his  beautiful  castle,” 
were  deemed  by  his  mother  and  friends  among  the 
strongest. 

With  the  uncalculating  impetuosity  of  his  disease, 
he  had  ordered  immense  sums  of  money  to  be  ex- 
pended in  repairing  and  ft tting  what  had  become  al- 
most a ruin.  Furniture,  the  most  sumptuous  and  ap- 

* A similar  act  was  committed  by  Bo}de,  Earl  of  Cork,  and 
for  the  same  purpose. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


151 


propriate,  had  been  sent  from  England ; and  even 
wine  and  plate  had  arrived,  and  been  stowed  in  the 
long-unused  cellars  and  buttery  of  the  castle.  Its 
lord  and  suite  had  been  daily  expected,  when  his  dis- 
ease declared  itself  so  unequivocally  that  the  promis- 
ing but  unfortunate  young  nobleman  w^as  placed  in 
close  confinement.  Two  years  had  elapsed  since  that 
event;  and  his  mother,  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of 
Dunore,  his  sole  guardian,  and  in  whom  centred  the 
wdiole  interest  and  influence  of  the  Dunore  property, 
had  recently  proposed  visiting  the  castle,  in  order  to 
set  up  her  second  son,  Lord  Adelm,  to  represent  the 
neighboring  borough  of  Glannacrime  : but  on  some 

I representations  from  her  agent,  Mr.  Crawley,  and 
from  his  son,  Councillor  Conway  Townsend  Crawley, 
she  had  suddenly  given  up  the  intention. 

The  castle,  therefore,  remained  in  statu  quo , antique, 
superb,  and  desolate,  such  as  may  be  found  in- every 
province  in  Ireland — the  ancient  residence  of  Irish 
chiefs,  the  quondam  possession  of  English  lords  of  the 

I1  - pale,  the  property  of  more  recent  patentees,  or  the  in- 
heritance of  English-Irish  absentees,  known  only  by 
name  to  the  tenants  they  have  never  visited. 

The  traveller  paused  a few  moments  before  its 
I walls,  threw  his  eyes  rapidly  over  the  stately  edifice, 
and  then  proceeded  under  its  once  fortified  terrace, 
s along  the  strand,  to  the  monastic  retreat  of  the  learned 
I O’Leary. 

Monaster-ny-Oriel  was  one  of  those  ecclesiastical 
ruins  in  which  the  South  of  Ireland  abounds  ; it  was 
once  of  great  extent,  and  was  (in  the  terms  of  its 
charter)  given  to  God  and  to  St.  John  the  Evangelist 
by  one  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Macarthy  family.  The 


152 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


windows  and  arches,  still  in  preservation,  were  of 
beautiful  Gothic  architecture : the  walls  of  the  choir 
remained,  but  it  was  roofless:  and  in  the  newly- 
thatched  chauntry  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  G Leary 
held  his  academy,  literally  imaging  Shakspeare’s  de- 
scription of  a pedant  keeping  a school  in  a church. 
A tower  on  the  verge  of  the  ruins  (once  a small  house 
for  novices)  hanging  over  the  coast,  was  now  called 
the  Friary  of  St.  John,  where  the  Order  of  the  Do- 
minicans was  still  kept  up  ;*  it  was  also  the  tenement 
now  at  O’Leary’s  disposal,  through  the  kindness  of 
its  absent  proprietor. 

Everywhere  among  the  ruins,  the  tombs  of  rival 
chiefs  were  visible,  through  the  wild  shrubs  and  furze 
that  half  concealed  them.  Here,  a “ Gloria  in  Excel- 
sis  Deo”  was  raised  for  an  English  Boyle  or  Petty ; 
there,  a “ Giste  ici — Dieu  de  son  ame  ait  merci,’  for 
some  Norman  de  Barri  or  de  Grosse ; and  above  all 
rose  the  high  gray  stone,  that  in  the  ancient  Irish 
character  pointed  to  the  resting-place  of  Conal  Ma- 
carthy  More,  “ the  swift-footed,”  reposing  in  the 
midst  of  those  who  had  opposed,  or  those  who  had 
betrayed  him. 

This  scene,  so  solemn  even  when  tinged  with  the 
cheery  lustre  of  the  morning  light,  was  most  incon- 
gruously disturbed  by  the  hum  of  confused  and  nasal 
murmurings,  resembling  the  discord  of  an  ill-tuned 
bagpipe.  The  ear  of  the  traveller  seemed  to  recog- 
nize this  sound,  once  perhaps  well  known  to  him  ; and 
directing  his  steps  towards  the  chauntry  of  the 

* There  are  many  friaries  in  Ireland  thus  preserved  by  the  re- 
sidence of  one  or  two  of  the  Order  among  the  ruins  of  their  an- 
cient houses. 


FLORENCE  MAC  A RTIIY. 


153 


Blessed  Virgin,  be  perceived  several  students  stretched 
upon  the  rank  grass  before  its  high-arched  Saxon 
doorway  : thus  reviving  the  picture  of  an  Irish  school, 
given  by  Campion,  in  Queen  Elizabeth’s  day.  The 
ardent  but  barefooted  disciples  of  the  muses  now  (as 
then)  “ grovelling  on  the  earth,  their  books  at  their 
noses,  themselves  lying  prostrate,  and  so  chaunting 
out  their  lessons  piecemeal.-’ 

The  breaking  up  of  the  academy  took  place  as  the 
Commodore  approached  it ; a bevy  of  rough-headed 
students,  with  books  as  ragged  as  their  habiliments, 
rushed  forth  at  the  sound  of  the  horse’s  feet,  and 
with  hands  shading  their  uncovered  faces  from  the 
sun,  stood  gazing  in  earnest  surprise  at  the  unexpected 
visitant ; last  of  this  singular  group  followed  O'Leary 
himself,  in  learned  dishabille  (his  customary  suit),  an 
old  great-coat  fastened  with  a wooden  skewer  at  his 
breast,  the  sleeves  hanging  unoccupied,  “Spanish- 
wise,”  as  he  termed  it ; his  wig  laid  aside,  the  shaven 
crown  of  his  head  resembling  the  clerical  tonsure ; a 
tattered  Homer  in  one  hand,  and  a slip  of  sallow  in 
the  other,  with  which  he  had  been  lately  distributing 
some  well-earned  pandies  to  his  pupils : thus  exhibit- 
ing, in  appearance,  and  in  the  important  expression 
of  his  countenance,  an  epitome  of  that  order  of  per- 
sons once  so  numerous,  and  still  far  from  extinct  in 
Ireland,  the  hedge  schoolmaster. 

O’Leary  was  learned  in  the  antiquities  and  genealo- 
gies of  the  great  Irish  families  as  an  ancient  Senachy* 

* This  Seanachaiahe*  were  antiquaries,  genealogists,  and  his- 
torians ; they  recorded  remarkable  events  and  preserved  the 
genealogies  of  their  patron  in  a kind  of  poetical  stanza.  Each 
province  prince,  or  chief,  had  a senacha  : and  we  will  venture  to 


154 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


(an  order  of  which  he  believed  himself  to  be  the  sole 
representative) ; credulous  of  her  fables,  and  jealous 
of  her  ancient  glory ; ardent  in  his  feelings,  fixed  in 
his  prejudices;  hating  the  Bodei  Sassoni , of  English 
churls,  in  proportion  as  he  distrusted  them.  Living 
only  in  the  past,  contemptuous  of  the  present,  and 
hopeless  of  the  future,  all  his  national  learning  and 
national  vanity  were  employed  on  his  history  of  the 
Maoarthies  More,  to  whom  he  deemed  himself  here- 
ditary senachy.  All  his  early  associations  and  affec- 
tions were  not  the  less  occupied  with  the  Fitzadelm 
family;  to  an  heir  of  which  he  had  not  only  been 
foster-father,  but,  by  a singular  chain  of  occurrences, 
tutor  and  host.  Thus  there  existed  an  incongruity 
between  his  prejudices  and  affections,  that  added  con- 
siderably to  the  natural  incoherence  of  his  wild,  un- 
regulated, ideal  character.  He  had  as  much  Greek 
and  Latin  as  generally  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  inferior 
Irish  priesthood,  an  order  to  which  he  had  been  ori- 
ginally destined.  He  spoke  Irish,  as  his  native  tongue, 
with  great  fluency;  and  English,  with  but  little  vaiia- 
tion,  as  it  might  have  been  spoken  in  the  days  of 
James  or  Elizabeth ; for  English  was  with  him  acquired 
by  study,  at  no  early  period  of  life,  and  principally 

conjecture,  that  in  each  province  there  was  a repository,  for  the 
collections  of  the  different  Seanachaiahe  belonging  to  it,  with, 
the  care  of  which  an  Ollamh-le-Seanacha  was  charged  ; the  an- 
cient college  of  arms  of  Ulster  is  still  maintained. — JFalker's  His- 
tory of  Irish  Bards . 

* The  very  common  word,  says  General  Valency,  is  peculiar 
to  Ireland ; it  is,  indeed,  daily  used  in  the  corruption  of  Shanaas * 
Och!  he  has  fine  old  Shanaos , or  old  talk,  is  frequently  applied  to 
family  history,  (fee. 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIF. 


155 


obtained  from  such  books  as  came  within  the  black 
letter  plan  of  his  antiquarian  pursuits. 

O’Leary  now  advanced  to  meet  his  visitant  with  a 
countenance  radiant  with  an  expression  of  compla- 
cency and  satisfaction,  not  unmingled  with  pride  and 
importance,  as  he  threw  his  eyes  round  on  his  numer- 
ous disciples.  To  one  of  these  the  Commodore  gave 
his  horse;  and  drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  as  if  to 
shade  them  from  the  sun,  he  placed  himself  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Saxon  arch,  observing : 

“You  see,  Mr.  O’Leary,  I very  eagerly  avail  my- 
self of  your  invitation ; but  I fear  I have  interrupted 
your  learned  avocation.” 

“Not  a taste,  your  honor,  and  am  going  to  give  my 
classes  a holiday,  in  respect  of  the  turf,  sir.*  What 
do’s  yez  all  crowd  round  the  gentleman  for  ? Did 
never  yez  see  a raal  gentleman  afore  ? I’d  trouble 
yez  to  consider  yourselves  as  temporary.  There’s 
great  scholars  among  them  ragged  runagates,  your 
honor,  poor  as  they  look ; for  though  in  these  degen- 
dered  times  you  v/on’t  get  the  childre,  as  formerly,  to 
talk  the  dead  languages  afore  they  can  spake,  when, 
says  Campion,  they  had  Latin  like  a vulgar  tongue, 
conning  in  their  schools  of  leechcraft  the  aphorisms 
of  Hippocrates,  and  the  civil  institutes  of  the  facul- 
ties, yet  there  are  as  fine  scholars  and  good  philoso- 
phers still,  sir,  to  be  found  in  my  seminary,  as  in 
Trinity  College,  Dublin.  Now,  step  forward  here, 
you  Homers.  ‘ Keklute  meu  Troes,  kai  Dardanoi, 
ed’  epikouroi.’  ” 

Half  a dozen  overgrown  boys,  with  bare  heads  and 
naked  feet,  hustled  forward. 

* i.  c.  Getting  in  that  useful  inflammable. 


356 


FLORENCE  MACARTHIf, 


“ Them’s  my  first  class,  plaze  your  honor ; sorrow 
one  of  them  gossoons  hut  would  throw  you  off  a page 
of  Homer  into  Irish  while  he’d  be  clamping  a turf 
stack.  Come  forward  here,  Padreen  Mahony,  you^ 
little  mitcher,  ye.  Have  ye  no  better  courtesy  than 
that,  Padreen  ? Fie  upon  your  manners.  Then  for 
all  that,  sir,  he’s  my  head  philosopher,  and  I’m  get- 
ting him  up  for  Maynooth.  Och ! then,  I wouldn’t 
ax  better  than  to  pit  him  against  the  provost  of  Tri- 
nity College  this  day,  for  all  his  ould  small  clothes, 
sir,  the  cratur ! troth  he’d  puzzle  him,  great  as  he  is, 
aye,  and  bate  him  too ; that’s  at  the  humanities,  sir. 
Padreen,  my  man,  if  the  pig’s  sould  at  Dunore  mar- 
ket to-morrow,  tell  your  daddy,  dear,  I'll  expect  the 
pintion.  Is  that  your  bow,  Padreen,  with  your  head 
under  your  arm  like  a roasting  hen?  Upon  my 
word  I take  shame  for  your  manners.  There,  your 
honor,  them’s  my  Cordaries,  the  little  Leprehauns,* 
with  their  cathah\  heads  and  their  burned  shins ; I 
think  your  honor  would  be  divarted  to  hear  them 
parsing  a chapter.  Well,  now  dismiss,  lads,  jewel — - 
off  with  yez,  extemplo , like  a piper  out  of  a tent ; away 
with  yez  to  the  turf ; and  mind  me  well,  ye  Homers 
ye,  I’ll  expect  Hector  and  Andromache  to-morrow 
without  fail ; observe  me  well,  I’ll  take  no  excuse  for 
the  classics,  barring  the  bog,  in  respect  of  the  wea- 
ther’s being  dry ; dismiss,  I say.” 

The  learned  disciples  of  this  Irish  sage,  pulling 
down  the  front  lock  of  their  hair  to  designate  the 
bow  they  would  have  made,  if  they  had  possessed 
hats  to  move,  now  scampered  off,  leaping  over  tomb- 
* Leprehauns,  one  of  the  inferior  order  of  Irish  Demonology, 
t Cathah— curly  or  matted. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


157 


stones  and  clearing  racks;  while  O’Leary  observed, 
shaking  his  head,  and  looking  after  them,  “Not  one 
of  them  but  is  sharp-witted,  and  has  a ganius  for 
poethry,  if  there  was  any  encouragement  for  laming 
in  these  degendered  times.” 

Having  gratified  his  pedagogue  pride,  and  excused 
the  “ looped  and  windowed  raggedness”  of  his  pupils, 
by  extolling  that  which  passeth  show,  he  now  turned 
his  whole  attentfon  on  his  guest,  who  stood  shadowed 
by  the  deep-arched  doorcase,  waiting  till  the  last  of 
the  boys  had  disappeared.  O’Leary  led  the  way  be- 
fore him  into  the  interior  of  the  chauntry,  which  was 
divided  into  the  schoolroom  and  his  own  abode; 
then  laying  down  his  Homer  and  ferule,  and  shutting 
the  door  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  the  light,  and 
wiping  down  a seat  with  his  wig,  which  lay  on  the 
desk,  and  which  he  afterwards  placed  on  his  head,  he 
respectfully  motioned  his  visitor  to  be  seated.  A si- 
lence for  a moment  ensued ; when  O’Leary,  fixing  his 
eyes  into  a look  of  expressive  significance,  observed, 
in  a low  cautious  tone : 

“ I ax  your  lordship’s  pardon  for  the  great  liberty 
I took  in  calling  you,  sir,  my  lord ; thinking  it  due 
discretion  so  to  do  before  my  scholars ; in  respect  of 
your  intention  of  biding  here  in  casu  incognito .” 

“ Indeed !”  said  the  Commodore,  starting  on  his 
feet ; “ for  whom,  then,  do  you  take- me  ?” 

“For  who  you  are — noble  by  blood,  by  birth,  and 
by  descent;  and,  though  no  Irishman,  but  of  Norman 
breed,  a true  Geraldine.  And  though  the  Fitzadelms 
are  nothing  to  me,  now,  for  I have  shook  the  dust  of 
my  feet  at  their  threshold,  and  threw  my  ©uld  couran * 
* An  Irish  shoe  or  brogue,  made  without  heels. 


158 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


over  the  head  of  the  last  of  the  race  that  shall  ever 
give  my  heart  a beat,  or  my  eye  a tear,  yet  I’d  be 
sorry  that  it  was  to  say  that  a branch  of  the  ould 
tree  wanted  a sheltering  place  when  I,  Terence  Oge 
O'Leary,  the  last  Irish  fosterer  of  the  family,  had  a 
shed  to  ho  ns  el  him  under.” 

“ For  whom,  then,”  repeated  the  Commodore,  in  a 
calmer  tone  than  he  had  before  asked  the  question, 
“ for  whom  do  you  take  me  ?” 

“ For  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm,”  replied  O’Leary, 
with  a respectful  bow,  “ the  cadet  of  the  twin  sons  of 
Gerald  Baron  Fitzadelm,  commonly  called  the  Red 
Baron;  himself  the  cadet  of  the  father  of  the  son, 

and  heir  that  would  have  been  if 

O’Leary  paused : his  voice  faltered ; and  after  a mo- 
ment’s silence,  the  Commodore  observed  : 

“Tt  is  strange  that  you  should  take  me  for  the  Lord 
Fitzadelm.  For  what  purpose  should  he  come  incog- 
nito into  this  neighborhood  ?” 

“ For  every  purpose  in  life,  your  honor,  and  the  best 
of  purposes,  to  circumvent  them  land  pirates,  them 
plot-hunters,  them  trianglers!  them — them  Crawley 
thieves,  Bachal  Essu ! only  let  me  live  to  see  that  day, 
and  then  doesn’t  care  how  soon  I'm  carried  feet  fore- 
most to  the  berring  ground  of  the  pobble  O’Leary,, 
near  St.  Crohan’s,  county  Kerry : for  it’s  little  else  is 
left  for  me  now  to  live  for,  but  to  die,” 

“ And  for  this  strange  tissue  of  improbability,  what 
grounds  have  you,  O’Leary  ? Why  should  Lord 
Fitzadelm  come  over  in  disguise  to  circumvent,  as 
you  call  it,  his  mother’s  agent  ?” 

“ If  you  don’t  believe  me,  your  honor,”  interrupted 
O’Leary,  losing  the  supposed  identity  of  the  person  he 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


159 


was  addressing,  in  the  incoherency  of  his  always  con- 
fused ideas,  “ will  you  believe  your  own  eyes,  sir ; 
that’s  my  lord,  I mane  ?” 

He  drew  forth  a letter  from  his  pocket  as  he  spoke, 
and  the  Commodore  took  it  to  the  little  casement, 
and  read  as  follows  : 

“ A distinguished  looking  stranger  will  shortly  pre- 
sent himself  to  the  learned  and  sagacious  Terence 
Oge  O’Leary : should  he  propose  himself  as  a tenant 
for  the  Reverend  Mr.  O Sullivan’s  vacant  apartments, 
he  will  do  well  to  accept  him.  Terence  Oge  O’Leary 
may  have  heard  that  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm  will 
shortly  be  in  the  Peninsula  of  Dunore,  to  circumvent 
the  machinations  of  the  Crawley  fiction,  and  will 
there  be  incognito.  None  but  the  well-wishers  of  the 
Crawleys  would  refuse  to  assist  Lord  Adelm  in  a tem- 
porary concealment,  necessary  for  the  effecting  of  his 
laudable  purposes.” 

After  a frequent  and  amazed  perusal  of  this  billet, 
the  Commodore  demanded  how  this  strange  letter 
reached  O'Leary. 

“I  found  it,”  he  replied,  “ after  the  dawn  of  day.” 

“ Found  it  ?” 

“ Aye,  did  I,  troth,  and  marvelled  much  to  see  it 
fixed  in  the  latch  of  the  outside  door  of  the  chauntry ; 
and  was  mighty  loth  to  break  the  sale,*  and  didn’t, 
only  just  skimmed  round  it. 

The  Commodore,  on  examining  the  seal,  found  it 
bore  the  figure  of  a child,  plucking  the  thorns  from  a 
rose,  with  the  motto  : 

Sou  utile  ainda  que  Bricando,*}’ 

* Seal. 

t I am  useful  in  sportiveness. 


160 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


“And  have  you  no  idea  from  whom  this  letter 
comes  ?”  asked  the  Commodore,  after  another  pause, 
and  some  evident  perplexity  of  idea. 

“ I have,  plaze  your  honor,  that’s  your  lordship,  I 
mane;  every  iday  in  life — it  comes  from  the  good 
people — ’Often  they  do  the  likes  of  that  kind  turn  by 
their  pets — ‘that’s  the  fairies,  my  lord.” 

“ In  this  instance,  however,”  returned  the  Commo- 
dore, smiling,  “ they  have  done  you  an  ill  turn ; for  if 
they  mean  to  impress  you  with  an  idea  that  I am 
Lord  Adelxn  Fitzadelm,  they  most  certainly  deceive 
you.” 

“ Oh ! very  well,  sir,”  returned  O’Leary,  with  a most 
obstinate  look  of  incredulity,  “ as  your  lordship  will- 
eth,  that’s  your  honor,  I mane,  now,  sir,  if  it’s  sir  you 
plaze  to  be.” 

“ Supposing,”  said  the  Commodore,  “ that  even  if  it 
were  Lord  Adehn  who  sought  concealment  under  your 
roof,  surely  you  would  not  defeat  his  intentions  by 
persisting  in  giving  him  a title  which  would  at  once 
reveal  his  rank,  or  at  least  awaken  suspicion  ?” 

“ Is  it  me ! och ! I’d  be  very  sorry ! and  will  be 
bound  I’ll  never  call  your  lordship  my  lord,  if  you 
was  in  it  till  the  day  of  judgment,  only  when  w^e  are 
alone,  sir,  and  nobody  by,  barring  our  two  selves,  and 
can  pass  you  as  a tinnant  come  to  bathe  in  the  salt 
wrater,  sir,  and  need  never  name  your  honor  at  all,  sir, 
only  pass  you  for  my  lodger.” 

“ You  will  then  pass  me  for  what  I am  anxious  to 
become,  O’Leary ; I wTill  therefore  look  at  the  apart- 
ment you  mean  me  to  occupy.  You  shall  name  your 
own  terms ; and  I dare  say  you  have  some  old  dame, 


FLORENCE  MACA&THt. 


101 


who  is  wont  to  boil  a chicken,  and  make  coffee  for 
Friar  O’Sullivan,  who  would  undertake^- — ” 

“ Aye,'7  interrupted  O’Leary,  eagerly,  “ and  who  can 
toss  up  an  omelette,  and  fry  a bit  of  fish  on  maigre 
days,  your  honor,  and  was  taught  by  Fra  Denis  him- 
self, who  has  a mighty  pretty  taste  that  way.  Och  ! 
I’ll  engage  we’ll  table  your  honor  well.  Here,  Mo* 
riagh  machree,  throw  me  the  keys  of  the  friary.” 

As  he  spoke,  O’Leary  rapped  at  a little  blind  win- 
dow in  the  wall,  which  was  instantly  opened,  and  dis* 
covered  at  once  the  interior  of  his  kitchen,  and  an  old 
woman  employed  in  carding*  “ That’s  my  Giiieen,” 
said  O’Leary,  taking  a bunch  of  keys  from  her,  and 
opening  a door  opposite  to  that  which  led  from  the 
road  to  the  chauntry.  The  host  and  his  new  lodger 
proceeded  across  a sort  of  grass-grown  court,  sur- 
rounded by  a range  of  cloister,  still  in  high  preserva- 
tion, and  bent  their  steps  towards  the  friary.  An  old, 
and  apparently  very  feeble  eagle,  with  a leather  collar 
round  his  leg,  and  fastened  by  a chain  to  a fragment 
of  the  ruin,  attracted  the  stranger’s  attention.  O’Leary 
paused  also,  clasped  his  hands,  and  sighed,  exclaiming : 
“You  are  not  long  for  this  world,  my  Cumhal 
) honey,  and  leaves  your  bit  of  food  for  the  sparrows, 
my  poor  bird,  that  daren’t  come  near  you  oncet,  my 
king  of  the  mountains.” 

“ He  looks  very  sick,  and  I think  dying.” 

“ Oh  ! musha,  the  pity  of  him ! He’s  ould  and  de- 
solate like  myself.  It’s  twenty  years  and  more  since 
he  came  home  to  me  in  Dunkerron ; and  when  he 
came  in,  with  his  looks  all  on  fire,  as  he  was  wont 
after  being  out  all  day,  Terence,  my  ould  lad,  says  he, 
for  that’s  a way  he  had  of  calling  me,  that’s  he  that 


162 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


brought  me  the  eagle,  sir,  he  that  had  the  eye  of  an 
eagle,  and  the  spirit  of  an  eagle,— Terence,  my  old 
lad,  I have  brought  you  another  pet,  says  he.  Do 
you  mind,  your  honor,  marking  the  word  1 another,’ 
and  maneing  himself  to  be  one,  the  sowl ! Have  you,  j 
my  lord,  says  I,  for  though  he  was  then  left  to  perish  * 
by  his  own  kin,  and  was  sharing  my  bit  and  sup,  in  ] 
the  wilds  of  Kerry,  I always  called  him  my  lord,  as 
he  was,  or  would  have  been ; and  did  so  that  day  j 
’bove  all  others,  for  he  had  scarcely  a skreed  of  his 
ould  red  jacket  left  on  him;  and  called  him  my  lord, 
in  regard  of  the  jacket.  Have  you,  my  lord,  says  I ; 
and  Terence,  says  he,  you’ll  be  kind  to  this  eaglet 
(and  it  was  fluttering  on  his  left  arm,  with  its  blue 
bill  and  golden  eye),  you  will  be  kind  to  it  for  my 
sake,  and  I’ll  tell  you  why,  Terence,  says  he,  leaning 
his  right  arm  on  mine  and  looking  with  his  smile,  his 
mother  s smile,  in  my  face.  The  poor  bird  has  been 
driven  from  its  parent’s  nest,  says  he : I found  it  flut- 
tering on  a bare  rock  exposed  and  perishing.  For  it 
is  the  nature  of  the  eagle  to  chase  away  its  young,  ’ 
when  unable  to  supply  its  own  wants.  Want,  j 
Terence,  says  he,  may  overcome  even  a parent’s  love. 
The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  for  it  was  his 
own  story,  plaze  your  honor,  and  it  wasn’t  with  a dry  : 
cheek  I heard  him.  And  yet,  says  he,  cheering  up 
and  placing  the  fine  young  eaglet  on  the  ground,  the 
eagle  is  a noble  bird,  Terence,  and  even  this  poor  fel-  1 
low  may  yet  soar  high;  though  it  isn’t  under  a 
parent  s wing,  he’ll  imp  his  flight.  Them  were  his 
words,  if  I was  dying,  and  that  was  great  speaking 
for  a boy  of  twelve  years  old.  But  he ‘had  Homer 
and  Ossian  at  his  finger’s  ends,  to  say  nothing  of  Don 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


163 


Bellianis  of  Greece,  the  Seven  Wise  Maisters,  and 
Plae  racca  na  Rourke.”* 

While  O’Leary  was  giving  this  history,  the  Com- 
modore seemed  shaken  by  some  deep  feeling,  which, 
however,  was  unobserved  by  O’Leary,  whose  atten- 
tion was  wholly  occupied  in  striving  to  make  the 
bird  feed,  while  he  described  its  first  appearance 
under  his  roof.  The  Commdore  asked,  “ Of  whom 
do  you  speak,  O’Leary  ?” 

“Of  whom  do  I speak,  your  honor?”  said  O’Leary, 
raising  his  head  loftily;  “it’s  of  the  Honorable  de 
Montenay  Fitzadelm  I speak,  that  would  have  been 
Marquis  of  Dunore,  if  he  were  in  it  the  day,  the  only 
son  and  heir  of  Walter  Baron  Fitzadelm ; it’s  of  your 
father’s  nephew  I speak,  my  lord,”  said  O’Leary,  with 
inveteracy,  and  raising  his  voice,  “his  only  nephew, 
sir ; and  such  a nephew ! and  nothing  to  be  got  by  it 
but  a poor  bit  of  a title  in  distant  reversion ! not  a 
I scrubai  in  money  at  the  time,  not  a cantred  of  land 
then ; it  was  for  a sound,  a breath,  he  sowld  his  sowl. 
But  the  curses  that  fell  that  day — ” abided  he,  closing 
his  hands,  and  grinding  his  teeth,  while  he  still  seemed 
to  struggle  with  feelings  which  were  giving  the  ve- 
hemence of  insanity  to  his  voice,  nnd  its  wildness  to 
his  look  ; when  the  Commodore,  taking  off  his  hat,  as 
if  to  give  coolness  to  his  fervid  brow,  fixed  his  eye  on 

I him.  O’Leary  tottered  back  a few  steps : his  color 
faded,  his  countenance  lost  its  expression  of  fierce- 
ness ; he  several  times  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes, 
as  if  to  clear  their  vision ; then  stood  gazing  in  si- 

* The  celebrated  song  of  the  Irish  bard,  humorously  trans- 
lated by  Dean  Swift. 


164 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


lence  for  many  minutes  on  the  face  of  the  stranger, 
which  he  now  first  beheld  fairly  revealed. 

“You  do  not  wish  that  the  crimes  of  the  father 
should  bring  curses  on  his  children,  O'Leary,”  said 
the  Commodore,  in  a tranquil  voice,  “ if  indeed  the 
late  Baron  Fitzadelm  has  been  guilty  of  crimes  which 
merit  execration  ?” 

O’Leary  remained  silent : his  mind  seemed  in  abey- 
ance : every  other  sense  was  condensed  in  one  : his 
lips  moved,  but  he  uttered  no  sound  : he  stood  mo- 
tionless, till  his  eyes,  dazzled  by  the  intensity  of  their 
gaze,  obliged  him  to  press  his  lingers  on  their  aching 
lids. 

“ But,”  continued  the  Commodore,  putting  on  his 
hat,  and  losing  much  of  the  character  of  his  face  by 
concealing  its  finest  features,  “ but,  O’Leary,  if  you 
persist  in  believing  me  to  be  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm, 
say,  is  the  son  a well-chosen  confidant  of  his  father’s 
misdeeds  ? or  if  you  cannot  keep  the  secret  of  your 
own  indignant  feelings,  how  may  I expect  you  will 
keep  my  secret  ? that  is,  supposing  I were  the  Lord 
Adelm,  or  any  other  person,  O Learv,  whose  interest 
it  is  to  keep  his  real  name  unknown,  till  certain  pur- 
poses be  effected.  The  absence  of  discretion,  O’Leary, 
may  render  even  the  zeal  of  affection  abortive.  But 
come,  time  wears,  and  time  is  precious : I will  leave 
the  arrangement  of  the  friary  to  your  care : I must 
now  away  to  Mr.  Crawley's.  My  host  of  Dunore 
tells  me  that  it  will  be  difficult  to  obtain  an  interview 
with  your  powerful  portreeve  after  twelve ; you  shall 
show  me  the  way  to  Mount  Crawley,  and  we  will 
talk  of  the  great  Macarthies  More  as  we  walk  along, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


165 


the  descendants  of  the  Tyrian  Hercules,  the  powerful 
chiefs  of  Desmond.’5 

The  spirits  of  O’Leary  rallied  at  this  watchword  of 
the  imagination : he  looked  round  as  one  suddenly 
awakened  from  some  strange  vision  of  the  night,  and 
mechanically  followed  the  stranger  across  the  chauntry 
into  the  cemetry  of  St.  John’s,  where  the  boy,  to 
whose  care  he  had  delivered  his  horse,  was  still  lead- 
ing it  about.  “ Bring  your  master  his  hat,”  said  the 
Commodore,  taking  the  reins  of  his  horse.  “You 
shall  walk  a mile  of  the  way  with  me,  O’Leary,  and 
then  return  to  your  business,  to  which  I must  and  am 
resolved  not  to  be  an  hindrance.” 

The  boy  returned  with  the  hat,  which  O’Leary  suf- 
fered him  to  put  over  his  little  wig,  now  all  awry. 
Plunged  once  more  in  deep  cogitation,  he  walked  si- 
lently beside  his  new  tenant,  snatching  at  intervals  an 
eager  glance  at  his  person,  and  then  shaking  his  head, 
debating,  as  it  were,  some  point  within  himself ; and 
at  last  clasping  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  ex- 
claiming aloud,  as  he  paced  on  heavily — “ Sure  kin 
may  liken*  kin ; and  no  marvel  in  that,  anyhow ; only 
it  alllies  in  the  upper  part  of  the  face : and  that  was 
his  mother’s.  The  dark  eyes,  Milesian  born.  The 
great  O’Sullivan  Bear’s  daughter  coming  from  the 
Luceni  in  Spain,  of  Scythian  origin,  and  died  of  a 
broken  heart,  in  the  ‘ sorrowful  chamber,’  so  called  to 
this  day,  only  fallen  to  ruin,  why  wouldn't  she,  the 
cratur  ! and  her  own  child  first  turning  out  to  be  Judy 
Lallan’s ; and  then,  when  that  wouldn’t  do,  the  coun- 
i try  being  well  insensedf  to  the  contrary,  reported  to 
* Resemble. 

| Aware,  acquainted. 


166 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


be  dead,  and  taken  from  her : and  a hard  case  it  was, 
as  she  said  to  my  wife  on  her  death-bed,  God  rest 
her : for  they’d  ail  desarted  the  court,  barring  the 
bailiffs  for  the  execution,  laving  her  to  die  with  only 
the  child’s  nurse  to  wet  her  lips.  4 And  a hard  case  it 
is  to  lose  one’s  child,  Susheen,’  said  she,  as  she  gave 
the  prayer-book  that  had  the  certificate  of  Mr.  De 
Montenay’s  birth  and  marriage  in  it,  that’s  her  own 
marriage  with  my  lord,  thinking,  God  help  her,  that 
it  might  be  of  use  to  the  child  one  day  (which  it 
never  will),  and  sending  it  to  the  friar  Denis  O’Sulli- 
van Finn,  her  own  kinsman  at  Dunkerron,  for  my 
lady  was  a Catholic  by  birth,  and — — ” 

“ O’Sullivan,”  interrupted  the  Commodore,  “ is  still 
in  Cork,  I suppose ; but  the  book  of  course  lost,  if 
that  were  of  any  consequence  now.” 

u He  is  in  Cork,  sir,  and  will  be  till  the  visitation  i8 
over,  and  then  will  be  in  Portugal ; and  the  prayer- 
book’s  safe.  I saw  it  with  him  the  day  he  departed  ; 
but  what  matter  is  it  ? Sure  there  is  nothing  to  prove, 
but  that  he  was  murthered  fairly,  that’s  drowned  by 
force,  vi  et  armis.  I never  will  believe  that  he  sunk 
when  his  boat  was  overturned.  Is  it  he  that  dived 
and  swam  like  a duck  ? and  often  saw  him,  when  no- 
body would  venture  out,  cut  his  way  through  the 
wild  waves  that  bate  the  great  Skelegs,  and  his  cot 
overset,  and  a thousand  ullalues  raised  from  the  shore,  j 
and  rise  like  a barnacle  from  the  waves,  and  gain  the 
land,  and  1 scale  the  stone  of  pain,’  as  it’s  called,  and 
reach  the  spindle,  the  pilgrim’s  last  station  (a  bit  of 
rock  projecting  over  the  raging  sea),  the  storm  bating 
wildly  round  him.  Och ! that  was  a great  sight. 
Above  the  world  he  looked,  and  above  his  own  lot, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


167 


, 1 Auditque  ruentes 

Sub  pedibus  ventos,  et  rauca  tonitrua  calcat.’  ” 

“ And  he  to  be  drowned  on  a fine,  calm,  moonlight 
night,  when  he  went  out  to  chase  the  porpoises  (for 
that  was  great  sport  to  him),  and  to  fight  the  sae- 
calves  in  the  caves,  under  the  headlands  of  Kerry.” 
He  paused  and  again  looked  earnestly  in  the  Com- 
i modore’s  face ; who,  musing,  rather  than  listening  to 
this  apostrophe  of  O’Leary,  was  walking  on  in  a slack- 
ened pace,  with  the  reins  of  his  horse  rolled  round 
. his  folded  arms,  when  he  suddenly  asked : 

“ And  where  does  Mr.  O’Sullivan  live  in  Cork?” 

“ At  the  Franciscan  Friary,”  said  O’Leary  : and  then 
continued,  with  a deep  sigh,  “It’s  marvellous;  and 
doesn’t  know  where  the  likeness  is  with  the  hat  on. 
Only  it’s  the  Fitzadelm  mouth,  anyhow — why  wouldn’t, 
it  ? and  minds  me  of  the  Maearthies  More,  and  Ma- 
carthies  Reagh  of  Carberry,  who  were  kin  by  blood 
as  by  descent,  marrying  through  other,  evermore, 
and  preserving  the  family  mouth  always.” 

“ Oh ! by-the-bye,”  said  the  Commodore,  abruptly, 
and  throwing  off  his  air  of  abstraction,  “ did  not  this 
district,  of  Dunore  belong  anciently  to  the  Macar- 
thies  ?” 

“ Did  it  ? Is  it  Dunore  ? — The  Maearthies,  kings  of 
the  Coriandri,  of  the  ancient  Desmonds,  the  whole 
province  of  Munster,  late  tyranni ! See  there,  plaze 
your  honor,  behind  you;  that’s  Dunore  Castle,  the 
Dangan-ni-Carthie,  the  ancient  fortress  of  the  Macar- 
thies ; now  an  English  pale  castle,  as  I may  say ; and 
look  there  to  your  left,  near  the  sae,  at  the  brow  of 
ould  Clotnottyjoy ; do  you  see  a fine  ancient  ould 
castle  ? Well,  that’s  Castle  McCarthy,  hanging  over 


168 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


its  depindency,  the  village  of  Ballydab,  oncet  a bishop-  [ 
ric  and  borough.  The  castle  on  a rock,  an  ellipti- 
cal conoid,  defended  by  a barbican  to  the  right,  and 
the  hall  underneath,  where  Donagh  Macarthy  held 
his  last  court-baron,  and  his  tributaries  resorted  to 
him  for  suit  and  service,  the  pobble  O’Keefe  and  the 
pobble  O’Leary.” 

“ I see  nothing  but  a small  square  building  on  the 
mountain’s  brow,”  replied  his  companion,  in  vain 
straining  his  eyes  to  view  the  features  of  feudal 
strength  described  by  O'Leary,  who  saw  only  in  the 
mind’s  eye,  who  now,  with  all  the  associations  of  mem- 
ory and  imagination  awakened,  and  with  his  wonted 
incoherence,  launched  into  his  favorite  theme,  for  the 
moment  forgetful  of  every  other. 

“ There  is  the  very  gabbion  which  Florence  Ma- 
carthy stood  on  when  he  saw  the  cannon  planted  j 
against  his  only  son,  then  in  the  Lord  President’s 
power,  sending  the  warder  word  that  they  kept  him  I 
as  a fair  mark  to  bestow  their  shot  upon.  But  the 
constable  returned  answer,  1 the  fear  of  the  boy’s  life  j 
should  not  make  them  abandon  their  country  and  its 
cause.’  Then  the  Lord  President  of  Munster  and  his 
men  intrenched  themselves  between  the  river  here  to 
the  left  and  the  castle  forenent  you,  and  planted  be- " 
fore  it  two  demi-cannons  and  one  sacre.  Then,  sir, 
begins  the  battery  to  play  from  the  ramparts  of  the 
castle ; and  a breach  is  made,  by  a cave  under  the 
great  hall.  Gal-readh-aboo,*  cries  the  FitzadelmsI 
who  were  in  the  English  army  below,  encouraging  ’ 
their  men,  that  appeared  on  the  ramparts  above; 

* “ The  cause  of  the  red  stranger;”  the  war-cry  of  many  of  the 
N-orman  families  in  Ireland. 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


169 


Lambh-laidre-aboo,*  shouts  Macarthy  More,  from  the 
postern,  like  a flame  of  fire,  bearing  down  all  before 
him;— the  English  retreat:  the  war-horn  of  the  Ma- 
carthies  is  heard  through  the  mountains ; the  Macar- 
thies  carry  the  day.  Hurra ! Hurra ! Hurra !” 

O’Leary  was  now  waving  his  hat  in  the  air  triumph- 
antly, and  transported  beyond  the  present  moment, 
when  “ the  vile  squeaking  of  a wry-necked  fife,”  and 
the  roll  of  a drum,  broke  the  thread  of  his  ideas;  and 
to  the  fancied  engagements  of  the  Irish  and  English 
cohorts  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  day,  the  gallow-glasses 
of  the  Macarthies,  and  the  bowmen  of  St.  Leger,  suc- 
ceeded the  New-Town  Mount  Crawley  supplement- 
ary auxiliary  yeomanry  legion,  a corps  newly  raised 
by  Mr.  Crawley,  which  stepped  along  the  pathway 
of  a very  narrow  road,  it  nearly  occupied,  to  the 
tune  of  “ The  Protestant  Boys,”  which,  on  the  ap- 
pearance of  O’Leary,  was  instantly  changed  to 
“ Croppies  Lie  Down.”  To  judge  by  the  appearance 
of  this  evidently  new-raised  corps,  their  leader,  like 
Falstaff,  had 

“ Misused  the  king’s  press  most  d nably 

and  whether  it  were,  or  were  not,  made  up  of  “ re- 
volted tapsters,”  and  “ hostlers  trade-fallen,”  its  mem- 
bers presented  a most  unsoldier-like  appearance. 
There  gleamed,  however,  through  their  awkward 
gait  and  clumsy  carriage  a consciousness  of  superior- 
ity, perhaps,  both  religious  and  military,  which  gave 
the  last  finish  of  ridicule  to  their  exhibition:  take 
them  altogether, 

“ No  eye  had  seen  such  scarecrows.” 

* “ The  cause  of  the  strong  hand  the  war-cry  of  the  Macar- 
thies. 


170 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


The  manner  in  which  they  had  hustled  O’Leary  off 
the  pathway,  the  well-known  tune,  and  its  well-known 
meaning,  operated  like  a spell  upon  his  agitated 
mind ; he  stopped  short  till  they  had  marched  by ; 
and  then,  wholly  disenchanted  from  his  splendid 
dreams,  the  Irish  Macarthies  and  the  Norman  Fitza- 
delms  vanished  from  his  thoughts,  and  a third  epoch 
in  the  history  of  his  country  was  recalled  to  his  re- 
collection ; this  little  image  of  local  power  and  petty 
ascendency  changed  the  current  of  his  ideas,  and, 
with  a deep  sigh,  he  added,  “ And  now  ’tis  the  reign 
of  the  Crawleys.” 

“ Then  let  us  hasten  to  their  court  baron,”  returned 
the  Commodore,  smiling,  “ or  we  may  be  too  late  for 
an  audience,  O’Leary.” 

The  idea  that  the  stranger  was  the  brother  of  the 
Marquis  of  Dunore  had  taken  possession  of  O’Leary’s 
mind  with  all  the  pertinacity  incidental  to  his  former 
malady ; and  persuaded  that  the  ruin  of  the  Crawley 
faction,  as  he  termed  it,  was  at  hand,  he  neither  spe- 
culated nor  reasoned  upon  the  probable  means  by 
which  that  event  was  to  be  consummated.  His  ha- 
tred of  that  family  had  its  source  in  the  strongest 
feelings  and  most  fixed  prejudices  of  his  nature;  and, 
like  the  rest  of  his  countrymen,  of  his  own  class, 
his  revenge  was  proportionate  to  his  devotion  and 
fidelity. 

A few  words,  dropped  at  intervals,  made  up  the 
conversation  during  the  rest  of  their  walk.  He 
spoke  of  the  stranger  looking  older  than  be  ought, 
of  his  being  “ mighty  tanned  by  foreign  parts;”  he 
asked  if  Mr.  Crawley  had  seen  him  when  in  London, 
which,  being  answered  in  the  negative,  he  expressed 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


171 


his  fear  that  a family  likeness  might  be  traced,  and 
his  hope  that  Torney  Crawley  would  be  caught  by 
his  lordship  in  all  his  glory : for  this  was  one  of  his 
great  days,  when  people  came  to  him  from  all  parts 
of  the  county  for  law,  justice  and  money. 

“ There  is  New-Town  Mount  Crawley,  plaze  your 
honor,”  said  O’Leary,  pointing  to  a few  slightly-built 
red  brick  houses  : “ sorrow  call  there  was,  at  all  at  all, 
for  them  slips  of  card  buildings,  only  to  crush  the 
ancient  city  of  Ballydab,  handy  by.  And  there’s  the 
new  barracks,  and  the  mail-coach  road  that  is  to  be. 
Och  ! musha,  English  barracks  and  a mail-coach  road 
in  Dangan-na-Carthy ! when,  in  Florence  McCarthy’s 
time,  the  sheriff  daren’t  set  his  foot  in  the  place  but 
the  country  round  rose  to  oppose  him ; and  all  this 
now  in  respect  of  the  jobs,  and  the  patronage,  and 
the  protectees,  taxing  the  country : and  before  that 
road  is  finished,  which  it  never  will,  many  a false  oath 
will  be  sworn,  and  many  a sowl  lost,  and  many  a poor 
man’s  cattle  be  driven ; and  for  all  that,  I remember 
me  the  Protreeve's  father,  ould  Paddy  Crawley,  herd 
to  McCarthy,  of  Castle  McCarthy,  there  beyont,  that’s 
the  late  ould  titular  Earl  of  Clancare.  And  now, 
there’s  Mount  Crawley,  plaze  your  lordship,  on  the 
top  of  that  green  sod  hill,  once  called  the  Thane’s 
Heap,*  in  regard  of  a Macarthy  was  slain  there,  in  an 
engagement  between  them  and  the  Fitzadelms,  about 
taking  a prey  of  cattle, — that’s  when  the  Macarthies’ 
greatness  overshadowed  all  the  southern  chiefs ; and 
they  made  that  day  an  elegant  retrait  through  the 
pass  of  Mashanaglass,  there  below,  to  their  own  castle, 
as  will  be  seen  in  my  genealogical  history.  Sorrow 

* Cairn©  Tierna. 


172 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


much  the  retrait  of  Xenophon  was  in  comparaisment 
to  that  Mashanaglass ; but  now,  Dioul ! its  the  reign 
of  the  Crawleys.” 

At  the  gates  of  the  .principal  entrance  to  Mount 
Crawley  O'Leary  took  his  leave,  observing  that  he 
had  made  a vow  in  the  year  of  the  rebellion  never  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  a Crawley,  “ till  they  had  no 
longer  a threshold  to  cross,  plaze  your  lordship.”  At 
the  word  “ lordship,”  the  Commodore  put  his  fore- 
finger to  his  lips,  and  O'Leary,  recovering  himself, 
added,  “ your  honor,  I mane.”  He  then  retreated, 
leaving  him,  whom  he  persisted  in  believing  Lord 
Adelm,  persuaded  that,  among  his  virtues,  the  “ ex- 
cellent quality  of  discretion”  could  not  be  numbered; 
and  that  this  affectionate,  but  inconsiderate  person, 
was  the  last  to  be  trusted  with  a secret,  in  which  his 
own  strong  and  ungoverned  feelings  had  an  interest. 
He  had  in  the  course  of  his  desultory  and  incoherent 
conversation  betrayed  circumstances  detrimental  to 
the  family  honor  of  the  Fitzadelms,  and  which  had 
long  slept  in  oblivion,— that  Baron  Fitzadelm  had 
been  reduced  by  his  distress,  and  influenced  by  his 
brother,  to  conceal  the  existence  of  his  son,  in  order 
to  raise  money  on  the  little  that  was  left  of  his  estate, — 
that  he  had  afterwards  yielded  to  the  story  suggested 
by  his  brother,  of  this  unfortunate  boy  not  being 
his  son,  but  the  substituted  child  of  his  first  nurse,  to 
whom  O’Leary’s  wife  had  succeeded, — that  the  boy 
had  afterwards  been  sent  to  the  wilds  of  Kerry,  to 
his  foster-father,  to  be  kept  for  some  sinister  purpose 
out  of  the  way, — that  immediately  after  his  father’s 
death  he  was  drowned  by  accident  (though  some  told 
a different  tale) —that  the  herald’s  office  had,  for  some 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


173 


years  after  the  death  of  the  father  and  son,  refused  to 
grant  Gerald  Fitzadelm  the  title  of  Baron  Fitzadelm. 
All  these  circumstances,  once  the  common  topic  of 
conversation  in  the  province,  had  now  died  away, 
with  the  greater  part  of  the  generation  who  had  wit- 
nessed them ; and  the  details  were  only  known  to  the 
few  persons  still  surviving  who  were  interested  in 
their  occurrence : these  were  the  superior  of  the  friars 
of  St.  John’s,  the  old  baccah  of  Lis-na-sleugh,  and, 
above  all,  the  fosterer  of  the  deserted  and  persecuted 
heir  of  Fitzadelm,  Terence  Oge  O’Leary. 


CHAPTER  YI. 


Having  both  the  keys 

Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts  i’  the  state 

To  what  tune  pleased  his  ear. 

Tempest. 

Rampant  et  mediocre,  et  1*  on  parvient  a tout. 

Beaumarchais. 

The  Commodore  had  insisted  on  O’Leary’s  riding 
back  his  horse,  and  had  left  the  arrangement  of  his 
future  residence  at  the  friary  entirely  to  his  direction. 
He  then  ascended,  alone,  the  steep  hill,  which,  bleak, 
bare,  and  fringed  only  by  a few  scanty  and  ill-thriven 
plantations,  led  to  the  new-raised  mansion  of  Mount 
Crawley.  The  house  was  a large,  square,  lantern- 
like building,  all  wyat  windows  and  green  verandas ; 
it  was  unsheltered  and  unadorned,  save  by  a cum- 
brous Grecian  portico,  an  evident  afterthought  of  the 
architect,  who  seemed  to  have  consulted  rather  the 
genius  of  the  owner  than  of  the  place ; for  all  was  ex- 
pense without  taste,  and  show  without  comfort. 

It  was  a levee  day  with  Mr.  Crawley,  who,  from  an 
open  window  of  his  office,  usually  transacted,  at  the 
same  time,  the  opposite  and  multifarious  business  of 
agent,  magistrate,  county  treasurer,  land  jobber,  road 
maker,  landlord,  and  attorney-at-law,  captain  of  the 
Dunore  Volunteers,  and  commandant  of  the  New- 
Town  Mount  Crawley  supplementary-auxiliary  volun- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


175 


teer  legion,  which  he  had  just  raised,  and  clothed  at 
the  expense  of  the — county. 

At  this  window,  the  object  of  many  an  anxious 
eye,  which  had  watched  its  opening  from  the  day’s 
earliest  dawn,  now  stood  Mr.  Crawley,  m robe  de 
chambre , et  bonnet  de  nuit ; his  shaving-box  in  one 
hand,  and  his  shaving-brush  in  the  other,  which  was 
applied  to  his  already  half-lathered  face.  A clerk  was 
seated  writing  at  a table  by  his  side,  disputing  and 
wrangling  with  the  crowd  of  suitors  who  occupied 
the  gravel- walk  in  front  of  the  window,  and  who  had 
come  from  all  parts  to  solicit  law,  redress,  protection, 
interference,  work,  alleviation,  or  a long  day  for  the 
rent  they  were  wholly  unable  to  pay.  On  the  other 
side,  and  close  to  the  window,  with  hard  features, 
and  looks  full  of  petty  importance,  were  to  be  seen 
jobbers,  drivers,  land  bailiffs,  constables,  and  over- 
seers, surrounded  by  petitioning,  whining,  wrretched 
cotters,  road  makers,  and  laborers.  In  this  group 
also  stood  two  resolute,  determined-looking  men, 
manacled,  and  in  custody.  They  had  been  taken  up 
on  the  preceding  night  as  “Padreen  Gar’s  boys,  ’ — a 
real  or  supposed  association,  less  formidable  to  go- 
vernment than  to  Mr.  Crawley's  peace  of  mind,  and 
serving  him  as  the  groundwork  of  many  well-got  up 
plots,  as  the  preamble  of  many  proposed  bills,  sug- 
gested by  him  to  the  Irish  government,  for  multiply- 
ing dependants,  increasing  influence,  and  depressing, 
galling,  harassing,  and  insulting,  the  beggared  and 
Catholic  peasantry. 

These  men  were  now  waiting  to  go  through  the 
form  of  an  examination,  previous  to  their  committal 
to  the  county  jail ; where,  guilty  or  innocent,  they 


176 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


were  destined  to  wear  out  their  lives,  in  all  likelihood, 
in  incarceration,  vice,  and  misery,  under  a form  of 
law,  known  only  in  Ireland,  called  a Rule  of  Bail. 
Under  the  portico,  with  a table  and  some  refresh- 
ments before  them,  sat  a few  of  the  more  substantial 
tenants  of  the  Dunore  estate,  who  had  just  paid  in 
their  rents.  In  the  front  of  the  house  were  drawn  up 
the  Mount  Crawley  legion,  regaling  the  ears  of  this 
Catholic  multitude  with  the  (alternately  performed) 
tunes  of  “ The  Protestant  Boys,”  and  u Croppies  Lie 
Down.”  A crowd  of  idle  people  stood  a short  dis- 
tance outside  a little  gate,  which  opened  on  the  lawn ; 
and  among  these,  the  candidate  tenant  for  Court 
Fitzadelm  had  placed  himself  out  of  the  view  of  the 
“ great  man”  of  this  characteristic  Irish  scene. 

Meantime  Jemmy  Bryan,  ci-devant  driver  (8),  but 
now  the  right-hand  man  of  Mr.  Crawley,  was  endea- 
voring to  establish  order  among  some  persons,  who, 
from  curiosity,  were  led  to  examine  the  new  scarlet 
jackets  and  worsted  plumage  of  the  legion,  more 
'closely  than  was  deemed  respectful  to  the  sacredness 
of  their  military  calling.  He  was  laying  about  his 
staff  of  office  pretty  actively,  with  “ Quit,  quit,  I say ! 
Will  yez  let  his  honor  get  a sight  of  his  own  legion, 
and  he  going  to  man-yeuvre  them  ?” 

Mr.  Crawley  now  placed  himself  at  his  window, 
brandishing  not  his  sword,  but  his  razor ; and  hold- 
ing his  nose  obliquely  with  his  left  hand,  he  exclaimed 
authoritatively,  “ Jemmy  Bryan,  make  an  era  for  the 
legion  to  go  through  their  involutions  in*.  Rare  rank, 
take  close  order : mighty  well.  Where  are  your  re- 
gimental gaiters,  Corporal  Costello  ? Oh,  now  while 
I think  of  it,  Sargeant  Kelly,  apropos  to  my  corde- 


FLORENCE  MCCARTHY. 


177 


roys,  if  you  don’t  finisli  them  the  night,  I’ll  send  to 
Dublin  for  a pair;  and  that’s  the  way  you  sarve  me 
for  encouraging  the  manufactory  of  the  country,  Mr. 
Kelly.” 

“ Plaze  your  honor,  in  regard  of  the  Kew-Town 
Mount  Crawley  legion,”  said  Sergeant  Kelly  (a  tailor 
by  trade),  stepping  up  with  a military  salute  to  the 
window,  and  an  apologetic  look,  indicating  that  his 
new  vocation  had  “ raised  his  soul  above  buttons.” 
“Well,  Mr.  Sargeant  Kelly,  you  must  saiwe  the 
government  first;  but  that’s  no  raison  nor  rhyme 
either  that  I’m  to  want  my  small-clothes ; and  now 
fugle  me  those  haroes  through  all  them  system  of  tic- 
tacs  I sent  you  down  from  Lord  Rosbrin  in  a castle 
frank  last  week,  his  own  tictacs  for  the  Kil-Rosbrin 
corps,  from  the  secretary’s  office.” 

“ I shaul,  your  honor ; that’s  eyes  right  and  eyes 
left,  sir ; and  is  eligant  marchers  at  a quick  step,  plaze 
your  honor,  captain.” 

“ W ell  then,  Sargeant  Kelly,  march  me  them  through 
a little  circuitous  cut  to  Paddy  Scanlan’s  potato 
ridge ; but  have  a care  of  my  meadow : do  you  mind, 
Sargeant  Kelly  ?” 

“ I shaul,  sir.  Quick  march,”  cried  the  sergeant, 
while  “ The  Protestant  Boys”  struck  up,  and  the 
legion  went  shambling  off  in  a contrary  direction  to 
that  intended  by  Mr.  Crawley,  wTho,  with  that  half  of 
his  face  which  was  not  covered  with  soap-suds,  purple 
with  rage,  called  after  them : 

“ Come  back  here,  you  scampering  sons  of  guns ! 
Halt,  I say ! don’t  you  see  my  invisible  fence,  there, 
before  your  eyes,  you  buzzards,  and  goes  headfore- 
most rollicking  over  it  ? Halt,  I say.” 


178 


FLORENCE  MAC  ARTS  If. 


Halt  was  now  repeated  by  an  hundred  voices  to  the 
inattentive  ears  of  the  Mount  Crawley  heroes,  who, 
stunned  by  the  noise  of  the  drum  and  fife,  and  de- 
lighted with  their  exhibition  before , their  less  conse- 
quential countrymen,  were  deaf  to  the  orders  of  their 
captain-commandant,  and  went,  as  he  termed  it,  “ rol- 
licking on,”  till  overtaken  by  Jemmy  Bryan,  who 
brought  them  back  in  confusion,  while  Mr.  Crawley 
vociferated : 

“Is  it  to  Jericho  ye  are  marching,  ye  shambling 
thieves,  flopping  over  my  hay  ?” 

“No,  plaze  yer  honor,”  replied  Sergeant  Kelly, 
“ only  to  Ballydab,  captain,  to  be  ready  against  the 
ruction  at  the  fair,  sir,  to  keep  the  King’s  pace,  ac- 
cording to  your  honor’s  orders,  and  the  young 
sheriff’s,  sir.” 

“ And  did  I bid  you  go  without  your  new  colors, 
worked  for  you  on  elegant  orange  silk  by  Miss  Craw- 
ley, Sargeant  Kelly  ?” 

“ You  did  not,  plaze  your  honor.” 

“ Then  draw  up  in  a square  hollow,  according  to 
Lord  Rosbrin’s  tictacs,  under  the  virandow  of  her 
room,  and  she’ll  hand  them  out  to  yez.  Order  a tre- 
vailly  to  be  bate  to  give  her  notice.” 

The  sergeant  drew  up  his  men,  the  reveillee  was  beat, 
the  window  opened,  and  Miss  Crawley,  the  maiden 
sister  of  the  captain-commandant,  appeared  with  a lit- 
tle flag  at  the  veranda,  which  she  lowered  to  Sergeant 
Kelly,  observing,  as  she  resigned  it : 

“ In  presenting  to  brave  men  the  standard  that  is 

to  lead  them  to  victory  or  death ” 

“ Och,  murther !”  interrupted  Mr.  Crawley,  stretch- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


179 


ing  out  of  his  own  window,  and  looking  up  at  his  sis- 
ter’s with  a look  of  humorous  surprise. 

“In  presenting  to  brave  men,”  continued  Miss 
Crawley,  “ the  standard  which  is  to  lead  them  to  vic- 
tory or  to  death,  I feel  myself  placed  in  a situation 
out  of  my  sphere,  and  inimical  to  my  feelings,  which 
are  those  of  peace  and  good  will  to  all  men.  But 
Judith  did  not  disdain  an  act  of  courage  in  her  coun- 
try’s cause ; nor  should  I have  shrunk  from  a Judith’s 
part,  had  that  Holofernes  visited  this  devoted  land, 
that  great  leviathan,  who  has  threatened  to  swallow 
us  all  up.” 

The  intimidated  legion  expressed  by  their  looks 
how  little  they  would  have  relished  being  swallowed 
up,  while  Mr.  Crawley,  between  jest  and  earnest,  and 
much  amused  by  the  unexpected  eloquence  of  his 
sister,  exclaimed : 

“ There  ! there’s  a haro  in  petticoats  for  you  !” 

“ Go,”  continued  Miss  Crawley,  emphatically,  “ and 
may  heaven  crown  your  arms  with  meekly-borne 
success !” 

The  “ go”  of  the  redoubtable  Miss  Crawley,  the 
deputy  lady  of  the  manor,  as  her  brother  was  the 
deputy  lord,  was  as  commanding  to  the  Mount 
Crawley  legion  as  the  “ march”  of  their  sergeant, 
who  now  led  them  forth  to  Ballydab,  full  of  their  own 
superior  influence,  and  the  ascendency  appertaining 
both  to  their  political  and  military  relations.  Ani- 
mated also  by  a little  whiskey,  ordered  by  Mr.  Craw- 
ley to  steep  their  colors  in,  they  proceeded  to  oppose 
prejudice  and  ignorance  armed  with  power,  to 
prejudice  and  ignorance  in  subjection;  and,  most 
probably  (as  is  the  usual  case  upon  such  occasions  in 


180 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


Ireland),  to  breed  and  foment  the  disturbance  they 
were  sent  to  anticipate,  or  to  quell,  by  tunes,  colors, 
and  speeches,  long  devoted  to  popular  execration. 

Mr.  Crawley  dismissed  himself  and  his  legion  to- 
gether ; his  clerk  took  his  place  at  the  window,  and 
he  retired  to  finish  the  duties  of  the  toilette,  which 
his  military  avocations  had  interrupted.  Not  so  Miss 
Crawley : she  indeed  had  retired,  but  retired  only  to 
return  to  her  veranda  with  a green  watering-pot,  and 
a sort  of  shepherdess’s  hat  added  to  the  quaker-like 
simplicity  of  her  dress.  Her  quick  eye  had  lighted 
upon  the  Commodore,  who  stood  mingled  but  not  con- 
founded with  the  plebeian  crowd ; and  she  now  re- 
turned, under  the  plea  of  watering  her  geraniums, 
to  follow  up  her  reconnoitre,  with  a tactical  skill, 
better  understood  and  practiced  than  Lord  Rosbrin’s 
system  by  the  New-Town  Mount  Crawley  legion. 
Meantime  the  Commodore,  unconsciously  “ biding  the 
keen  encounter  of  the  eye,”  walked  towards  the  por- 
tico, and  demanded  of  a servant,  who  stood  lounging 
at  the  door,  if  Mr.  Crawley  was  at  home.  The  ser- 
vant said  he  would  “try;”  and,  after  the  delay  of  a 
few  minutes,  returned,  not  with  a direct  answer  to 
the  inquiry,  but  with,  “ If  you  please  to  step  in  for  a 
minute,  I’ll  try  if  my  master’s  at  home,  sir.  What 
name,  sir,  shall  I say  ?” 

“ My  name  is  of  no  consequence : merely  say  a 
gentleman,  a stranger,  requests  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Mr.  Crawley.” 

“ I shall,  sir.  Walk  this  way,  if  you  please,  sir.” 

The  unknown  visitor  followed  the  liveried  cicerone 
through  two  spacious  and  splendidly  furnished  rooms, 
where  the  windows,  closely  blinded,  and  the  hearth, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


181 


closely  skreened,  accounted  for  the  chill  and  fusty 
atmosphere  which  pervaded  them.  Two  slovenly 
housemaids  were  uncovering  the  furniture  of  the 
drawing-room ; the  butler  was  occupied  in  laying  out 
a gorgeous  sideboard  of  plate  in  the  dining  parlor ; 
and  the  arrangements  everywhere  spoke  preparations 
for  a formal  country  dinner  party,  that  epitome  of 
all  competition,  tedium  and  ennui. 

In  that  official  class  of  Irish  life  to  which  Mr. 
Crawley  belonged,  the  acquisition  of  fortune,  not 
purchased  by  honest,  prosperous  industry,  but  accu- 
mulated by  servile  arts,  political  delinquency,  and 
fraudulent  intrigue,  is  usually  too  rapid  to  admit  of  a 
gradual  acquaintance  with  every-day  comforts,  found 
equally  among  the  first  and  middling  classes  of  soci- 
ety. A place  under  government  uniting  wealth  to 
influence,  when  suddenly  obtained,  strikes  the  roots; 
cf  ostentation  deep,  before  the  wrant  of  comfort  and 
accommodation  is  felt  by  those  whose  original  posi- 
tion was  destitute  of  both.  In  such  establishments, 
penury  combines  with  display,  discomfort  with  ex- 
pense ; and  while  a competition  is  excited  with  those 
to  whom  splendor  is  an  inheritance  and  a habit,  the 
less  obvious  and  more  enjoyable  elegances  of  life  are 
wanting  and  neglected.  Of  this,  the  cold,  fine,  formal 
apartments  of  Mount  Crawdey  (like  the  habits  of  life 
of  its  occupants)  w^ere  striking  illustrations. 

The  suite,  intended  to  be  imposing,  terminated  in 
a little  room,  into  which  the  footman  ushered  the 
Commodore,  and  then  went  out  by  an  opposite  door. 
Though  close,  unaired  and  slovenly,  this  apartment 
had  an  air  of  pretension  about  it,  marking  it  as  the 
retreat  of  some  slip  shod  muse.  Soiled  muslin 


182 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


draperies,  vases  of  dead  flowers,  an  unfinished  draw- 
ing of  New-Town  Mount  Crawley,  with  Dulce  Do- 
mum  written  under  it,  on  an  easel,  together  with 
much  literary  lumber,  and  similar  traces  of  vulgar 
sentimentality  in  every  direction,  would  have  decided 
at  once  the  vocation  of  its  proprietor,  if  pious  books, 
strewed  upon  the  tables,  and  evangelical  tracts  cover- 
ing the  sofas,  had  not  indicated  another  calling  than 
that  of  the  muse.  Piles  of  bibles,  filling  every  corner, 
suggested  that  this  coquettish  boudoir,  and  holy 
oratory,  belonged  to  one  of  those  persons  who  give 
books  where  they  should  give  bread,  and  lavish  dog- 
mas and  credenda  to  those  who  want  the  means  of 
^existence,. 

The  Commodore,  in  the  ennui  and  impatience  of 
idle  waiting,  took  up  one  book  after  another ; but 
though  all  were  not  sectarian  and  polemical,  none 
were  to  his  taste.  This  Olio  Podria  of  sacred  and 
profane  literature  consisted  of  namby-pamby  verses 
and  religious  calls ; sentimental  letters  and  Methodist 
tracts ; short  cuts  to  learning  of  every  description ; 
summary  views  and  meagre  abridgments  ; elegant  ex- 
tracts ; alphabetical  citations ; and  rhyming,  biographi- 
cal, geographical,  scriptural,  historical,  and  astrono- 
mical dictionaries  of  every  calibre.  Here,  “ Philoso- 
phy, for  the  Use  of  Ladies,”  lay  with  “ The  True  Reli- 
gion of  a Gentlewoman “ The  Wanderings  of  a 
Water  Wagtail  in  the  Sixteenth  Century”  with  “Ser- 
monettinos,  or  Religious  Bagatelles “ Shreds  of 
Fancy,  or  Literary  Patchwork,”  with  “An  Alarm  to 
the  Unconverted;’  “Delicate  Crimes,  or  Sin,  Sor- 
row, and  Sensibility,”  a religious  novel,  with  “ A Cal 
the  Unrepenting,  or  Milk  for  Babes,  and  Strong 


1 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


183 


Meat  for  Men ;”  a duodecimo  “ Beauties  of  all  the 
Poets,  or  Pocket  Inspiration,”  with  “ The  History  of 
a Child  who  knew  not  the  Lord  before  her  fifth  year, 
and  who  died  converted  to  the  true  faith  at  seven.” 
Controversial  tracts  upon  all  the  new  lights  were  min- 
gled with  quarterly,  monthly,  and  evangelical  reviews; 
“ Elegant  Extracts  for  the  Flageolet,”  with  u Hints 
for  the  Tambourine  and  Triangle;”  “A  Method  for 
Tuning  the  Harp  without  an  Ear ;”  “ Mnemonic  Sys- 
tems for  learning  Languages  without  study,  and  with 
a mode  of  playing  three  Piano-fortes  at  once  with 
two  hands.”  This  catalogue  raisonne,  or  rather  ds- 
raisonn* , might  be  taken  as  epitomizing  the  perver- 
sion of  human  intellect,  and  as  evincing  a successful 
circulation  of  the  folly,  hypocrisy,  and  imposition  of 
the  day,  no  less  than  the  shallowness,  bad  taste,  and 
pretension  of  the  presiding  mistress  of  such  a sanctum 
sanctorum. 

The  Commodore  had  just  taken  up,  and  was  about 
to  throw  down,  in  its  turn,  an  historical  work  for 
youth,  in  the  title-page  of  which  appeared  “ Stories 
from  the  History  of  England,  by  Conway  Townsend 
Crawley,  Esq.,  Barrister- at-Law,  dedicated  to  her  who 
4 taught  his  young  idea  how  to  shoot,’  to  Anne  Clot- 
worthy Crawley,  by  her  nephew :”  but  finding  that 
this  History  of  England  omitted  the  trifling  events  of 
Magna  Charta  and  the  Revolution  as  Jacobinical,  and 
as  tending  to  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot  in  a 
direction  unfavorable  to  the  orthodox  dictation  of  the 
day,  the  circumstance  amused  him,  and  he  sat  down 
to  glance  his  eye  over  its  pages.  They  contained  an 
abridgment  of  doctrines  which  he  was  yet  ignorant 
had  been  broached  in  Great  Britain,  under  the  special 


184 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


protection  of  the  constituted  authorities ; (doctrines 
which,  if  accredited,  defeat  the  claims  of  the  reigning 
family  to  the  throne,  and  place  its  august  members 
on  a line  with  the  mushroom  kings  of  the  by-gone 
day.) 

He  was  thus  occupied  when  the  door  opened,  and 
entered,  not,  as  he  expected,  Mr.  Crawley,  but  Mr. 
Crawley’s  sister  ; with  her  chapeau  de  bergere  in  one 
hand,  her  watering-pot  in  the  other,  and  exhibiting  a 
marked  primitiveness  in  her  dress,  and  a mincing,  Ian- 
guid,  affected  air  in  her  whole  gait  and  movement. 
She  commenced  with  a little  start  of  surprise  at  find- 
ing her  boudoir  so  occupied,  then  approached  full  of 
smiles,  graces,  and  graciousness,  or  what  she  meant 
to  be  such : she  begged  the  gentleman  to  be  seated, 
let  down  the  muslin  blinds,  to  exclude,  as  she  said, 
the  too  propitious  kindness  of  Sol,  and  then  took  her 
seat  near  the  sofa,  which  she  pointed  out  to  the 
stranger.  Whatever  impression  his  manly  and  dis- 
tinguished figure  had  made  upon  Miss  Crawley,  as  he 
was  seen  leaning  over  the  paddock-gate,  that  impres- 
sion was  now  improved  into  boundless  and  enthusi- 
astic admiration  by  the  singularity  of  his  fine  counte- 
nance, the  extreme  ease  of  his  address,  by  that  disen- 
gaged air  which  the  world  only  gives,  and,  above  all, 
by  a bow,  whose  foreign  grace  she  placed  at  once  to 
the  account  of  supreme  English  bon-ton. 

It  was  Miss  Crawley  who  had  reoeived  the  Com- 
modore’s message,  who  had  told  the  footman  that  she 
would  receive  him,  until  her  brother  was  at  leisure  to 
attend  his  summons ; and  in  so  doing,  she  believed 
that  she  was  paying  attention  to  some  man  of  rank, 
bearing  letters'  of  introduction  from  the  Marchioness 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


185 


of  Dunore,  or  some  other  person  of  distinction,  whom, 
by  her  laborious  exertion,  she  had  placed  on  the  list 
of  those  she  called  “ her  kind  great  friends.5’ 

Miss  Crawley,  after  a few  sidelong  looks  and  ser- 
pentine motions,  now  opened  the  conversation  by 
apologizing  for  her  brother’s  absence,  enumerating  the 
variety  of  his  official,  political,  and  professional  engage- 
ments. She  stated  the  coincidence  of  the  assizes,  and 
the  Glannacrime  election,  as  an  additional  cause  for 
the  hurry  of  business;  and  introduced  episodical 
sketches  of  the  family  importance  in  general, — of  her 
second  brother  being  a sergeant-at-law ; her  third,  a 
first  commissioner ; her  eldest  nephew  that  year 
sheriff  of  the  county ; her  next,  a major  in  the  army 
(a  peninsula  hero,  covered  with  orders);  and  the 
amiable  cadet,  she  added,  “ the  Magnus  Apollo5’  of 
the  age  and  country,  a young  barrister  of  great  poet- 
ical, political,  and  diplomatic  promise — her  eleve,  and, 
i as  the  poet  said,  “ darling  without  end.*’  Encouraged 
by  the  silent  attention  and  occasional  inclination  of 
the  Commodore’s  head,  Miss  Crawley  added  to  this 
information  some  slight  notices  of  herself ; and,  in 
apologizing  for  what  she  called  “the  literary  litter” 
of  her  boudoir,  she  referred  to  habits  that  had  be- 
come second  nature,  and  that,  to  be  broken,  required 
’an  almost  regenerated  spirit,  a superhuman  interven- 
tion. She  sighed,  and  then  threw  up  her  eyes,  adding, 
with  an  air  half  primitive,  half  dramatic — 

“ It  was  my  good  fortune— or  should  I not  rather 
say  my  ill  fortune  ? — -early  in  life  to  be  distinguished, 
by  the  celebrated  Lady  Clotworthy,  of  Bath,  whose 
prize  poems— — * 

Here  the  Commodore  involuntarily  took  up  his  hat; 


186 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


and  Miss  Crawley  suspecting  that  she  was  bestowing 
more  of  “ her  tediousness”  on  him  than  might  suit 
with  his  previous  arrangements,  observed  : 

“ I have  obtruded  this  family  sketch  upon  you,  in 
the  expectation  of  presenting  to  you  the  originals; 
for  we  hold  a family  congress  here  to-day,  and  whe- 
ther your  visit  to  Dunore  be  a pilgrimage  of  taste,  or 
of  mere  amusement,  my  brother  will  be  happy  to  do 
the  honors  of  these  romantic  scenes  in  the  absence  of 
their  lord,  whom,  he  represents.” 

“My  visit,  madam,  has  not  been  destitute  of  the 
gratification  of  taste ; but  it  is  not  a pilgrimage  made 
merely  in  pursuit  of  amusement ; business  of  a more 
serious  nature.” 

The  word  “ serious”  fell  like  an  electric  spark  upon 
the  imagination  of  Miss  Crawley ; and  the  first  self- 
created  vision  she  had  conjured  up,  vanished  before 
another  of  equal  interest  and  importance.  She  was 
now  led  to  believe  that  herself,  and  not  her  brother, 
was  the  object  of  this  visit;  that  what  she  had  taken 
for  temporal  distinction  was  “ the  beauty  of  holiness ;” 
and  that  she  saw  before  her,  not,  as  she  had  supposed, 
a mere  idle  elegant  English  tourist  of  fashion,  but  one 
of  a higher  calling,  who  might  unite  worldly  elevation 
to  that  w'hich  is  above  the  world’s  giving  or  taking 
away. 

Miss  Crawley  was  of  that  undefined  age  which  is 
occasionally  found  to  vibrate  between  th  folly  and 
sdsceptibility  of  youth,  and  the  despondence  and  ex- 
jDerience  of  disappointed  senility ; that  drowning  age 
in  which  female  celibacy  catches  at  every  straw  held 
out  by  hope,  or  offered  by  vanity,  and  which,  with  the 
illusive  chemistry  of  self-love,  converts  every  circuin- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


187 


stance  of  the  day’s  ordinary  routine  into  the  chance 
of  that  change  so  devoutly  wished.  She  had  long 
sighed  for  a fellow-laborer  in  the  cause : which,  like 
all  other  causes  of  heaven,  is  best  carried  on  among 
mortals,  with  the  auxiliary  of  rank,  fortune,  or  per- 
sonal advantage.*  The  object  might  now  stand  be- 
fore her,  her  hour  might  have  arrived ; and  the  sud- 
den hopes  kindled  by  this  visit,  for  a moment  stunned 
and  deprived  her  of  her  wonted,  elegant,  graceful, 
picturesque  presence  of  mind.  She  repeated  his 
words  in  a certain  soft  solemnity  of  voice  : 

“ A more  serious  nature  ! May  I add  my  ardent 
wishes  to  my  sanguine  hopes,  that  whatever  may  be 
the  purport  of  your  visit  here,  success  the  most  per- 
fect may  attend  it  ?” 

The  Commodore  bowed  low,  and  even  in  some  lit- 
tle confusion,  but  looked  to  the  door  for  the  momen- 
tarily expected  entrance  of  Mr.  Crawley. 

“ You  may,  perhaps,  have  known,”  said  Miss  Craw- 
ley, “ the  late  celebrated  Zachariah  Scare’um,  of  pious 
memory.” 

“ I have  heard  of  him,”  replied  the  Commodore, 
with  the  conversion  of  the  mysterious  Mrs.  Magilli- 
cuddy  full  in  his  memory,  and  again  taking  his  hat. 

“ You  have  heard  of  him,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  “ of 
course : disciples  of  every  sect  have  heard  of  him, 
though  all  do  not  agree  with  him.  His  gladiatorial 
wrestle  with  many  of  the  ramifying  and  heterodox 
divergencies  of  the  only  true  and  infallible  light  has 
gained  him  a worldly  distinction  he  craves  not ; his 
sturdy  and  zealous  opposition  to  the  Sublapsarians, 
the  Baxterians,  Necessarians,  Antinomians,  Sabala- 

* “ A saint  in  crape  is  twice  a saint  in  lawn.” 


188 


FLORENCE  MACARTHF. 


rians,  Swedenborgians,  Independents,  Universalists, 
Destructionists,  Hutchins  onians,  Millenarians,  Shakers, 
Jumpers,  Hunkers,  Fifth-Monarchy  men,  and  Mug- 
gletonians ” 

Here  Miss  Crawley’s  breath  and  the  Commodore's 
patience  failed  together.  She  paused  for  inspiration, 
and  he  rose  to  interrupt  her  tirade  of  sectarian  pe- 
dantry, by  demanding  if  he  had  any  chance  of  seeing 
Mr.  Crawley  that  morning.  With  a look  vibrating 
between  doubt  and  disappointment,  Miss  Crawley 
rose  and  rang  the  bell ; but  to  her  inquiries  for  her 
brother,  the  answer,  as  she  expected,  was,  that  he  had 
driven  out  in  his  curricle  to  Glannaerime,  and  would 
not  return  till  dinner. 

“ This  is  unfortunate,”  said  the  Commodore,  “ for 
I am  obliged  to  leave  Dunore  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.” 

Miss  Crawley  grew  pale  with  disappointment. 
Such  guests  were  not  always  to  be  had  in  the  coun- 
try— such  persons  were  rare  everywhere ; and  to 
prevent  the  chance  of  the  desirable  acquisition  escap- 
ing from  the  list  of  her  “ kind  great  friends,”  she  po- 
litely and  warmly  pressed  on  him  an  invitation  to 
dinner  for  that  day.  Presiding  in  her  brother’s 
house,  who  was  a widower,  her  privileges  and  immu- 
nities were  unlimited ; and  she  now  pressed  her  invi- 
tation with  the  air  of  one  who  had  a right  to  give  it, 
and  the  ardor  of  one  who  had  ah  interest  in  its  being 
accepted. 

This  conviction  struck  the  apprehension  of  her 
quick-sighted  guest ; and  corresponding  with  the  exi- 
gencies of  his  own  situation  and  business,  it  at  once 
decided  him,  and  he  yielded  to  solicitations,  which, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


189 


coming  from  a woman,  even  from  such  a woman,  he 
was  not,  perhaps,  of  a character  to  reject.  With 
that  peculiar  frankness  which  characterized  his  man- 
ners, after  the  pause  and  hesitation  of  a moment,  he 
said : 

“Well,  madam,  I shall  avail  myself  of  your  polite 
invitation.  The  few  words  I have  to  say  to  Mr. 
Crawley  can  be  dispatched  over  our  coffee ; and  time, 
precious  to  both,  may  thus  be  spared.” 

He  now  took  his  leave,  and  the  bow  with  which  he 
departed  finished  the  impression  his  first  appearance 
had  made. 

lie  had  been  gone  near  twenty  minutes,  and  Miss 
Crawley  still  remained  lounging  on  the  sofa,  in  the 
attitude  of  one  absorbed  in  a pleasant  .reverie,  when 
suddenly  recollecting  that  she  had  neither  asked  the 
name  nor  address  of  the  person  she  had  invited,  and 
that  he  had  not  himself  volunteered  it,  she  rose  and 
rung  the  bell  to  make  some  inquiries  among  the  ser- 
vants, when  the  arrival  of  two  barouches  and  four 
with  out-riders,  called  off,  for  the  present,  her  atten- 
tion. 

These  handsome  and  showy  equipages  contained 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  family  congress  alluded  to  by 
Miss  Crawley.  The  one  brought  Sergeant  and  Mrs. 
Crawley  and  their  four  daughters  ; and  the  other,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Commissioner  Crawley,  with  a pretty  daugh- 
ter of  the  latter  by  a former  marriage.  The  first  par- 
ties were  on  their  way  to  Killarney,  and  stopped  by 
special  invitation  for  a few  days  at  Mr.  Crawley’s. 
The  latter  had  come  to  take  possession  of  an  estate 
purchased  for  him  by  his  eldest  brother,  the  attorney, 


190 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


in  the  neighborhood  of  Dunore : they  were  to  pro- 
ceed on  a visit  to  the  bishop  of  the  diocese. 

If  ever  there  was  a period  in  the  history  of  a coun- 
try when  it  might  be  said  that 

“ Crime  gave  wealth,  and  wealth  gave  impudence,” 

it  was  that  period  in  the  history  of  Ireland,  when  re- 
bellion, excited  for  the  purpose  of  effecting  an  un- 
welcome union,  called  forth  all  the  worst  passions  of 
humanity,  and  armed  petty  power  with  the  rod  of 
extermination.  The  wealth,  influence  and  impor- 
tance of  the  Crawley  family  took  their  date  from 
that  memorable  and  frightful  epoch  in  the  tragedy 
of  Irish  history,  which  produced  both  moral  and 
political  ruin  to  a long-devoted  country,  under  every 
form  of  degradation  of  which  civilized  society  is  sus- 
ceptible. Previous  to  that  period  the  three  brothers 
had  remained  buried  in  the  obscurity  which  belonged 
to  their  social  and  intellectual  mediocrity.  The  eld- 
est, Darby  Crawley,  the  country  attorney,  found  his 
highest  dignity  in  being  the  factotum  of  the  two 
Barons  Fitzadelm,  the  agent  of  their  embarrassed 
property,  on  which  he  lent  them  money  saved  by  his 
father  in  their  service,  until  the  little  that  remained 
of  the  estate  fell  into  his  hands.  Through  the  inter- 
est of  his  employer  he  had  been  put  into  the  commis- 
sion of  the  peace;  the  year  1798  found  him  a magis- 
trate, and  fortune  and  his  merits  had  done  the  rest. 

The  second  brother,  whose  gravity  was  mistaken 
for  ability  by  his  father,  (the  illiterate  land-bailiff  of 
the  Fitzadelms,)  was  made  a gentleman  by  the  pa- 
tent of  a college  education,  and  the  legal  degree  of 
barrister-at-law.  He  had  plied  in  the  courts  with  an 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


191 


empty  green  bag,  and  more  empty  head,  year  after 
year,  with  fruitless  vigilance,  till  his  energy,  in  the 
melancholy  prosecutions  produced  by  the  rebellion, 
obtained  him  notice,  patronage,  place,  and  a silk 
gown.  , 

The  third  brother,  at  once  pompous  and  officious, 
servile  and  oppressive,  and  formed  alike  to  tyrannize 
or  cringe,  had  been  placed  as  clerk  in  a government 
office,  where,  by  his  pliancy  and  industry,  he  made 
himself  useful  to  a personage  of  shallow  endowment 
and  official  importance,  whose  political  views  ai*d 
flimsy  attainments  rendered  agents  thus  qualified  ne- 
cessary to  his  purposes.  The  dull  but  zealous  com- 
missioner, who  could  not  be  daunted  because  he 
i could  not  feel,  was  deemed  a proper  person  to  re- 
present a government  borough  in  the  Union  Parlia- 
ment; and,  having  effected  “his  most  filthy  bargain,” 
was  rewarded  with  the  place  of  first  commissioner  of 
a particular  board,  instituted  and  perpetuated  for  the 
purpose  of  paying  such  debts  to  such  creditors  as  the 
members  of  the  Crawley  family. 

Mr.  Commissioner,  like  his  elder  brothers,  charac- 
teristically represented  the  Bureaucratic , or  office 
tyranny,  by  which  Ireland  has  been  for  so  long  go- 
verned; whose  members,  arrogating  to  themselves 
exclusively  the  virtue  of  loyalty,  and  boldly  assuming 
its  insignia  and  device,  have  become  formidable  and 
oppressive  to  all  who  thwarted  their  career,  or  insi- 
nuated that  their  loyalty  lies  more  in  their  places 
than  their  principles.  The  elder  brother  Darby  was 
1 inferior  in  acquirements,  and  destitute  of  that  educa- 
tion which  his  father’s  increasing  prosperity  had  en- 
abled him  to  bestow  upon  his  younger  sons ; his  sue- 


192 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


cess,  however,  was  equal  to  theirs,  and  his  places  and 
avocations  were  still  more  numerous.  He  had  been 
a crown  solicitor,  at  a moment  when  that  place  was 
the  most  inordinately  lucrative ; he  was  treasurer  of 
a county,  and  he  united  to  these  trustworthy  situa- 
tions those  three  capacities,  whose  unity  is  named  in 
the  country  parts  of  Ireland  “ the  triple  tyranny  of 
the  land;”  he  was  agent  to  an  absentee  nobleman,  an 
active  magistrate,  and  captain  of  a yeomanry  corps. 

As  agent  he  kept  off  the  landlord  by  misrepresent-  ; 
ations  of  the  political  and  local  state  of  the  country ; 
and  he  worried  the  tenants  by  obliging  them  to  labor 
for  his  own  personal  benefit. 

As  a magistrate,  and  the  representative  of  his  em- 
ployer, he  packed  juries,  domineered  at  sessions,  cor- 
responded with  the  state  secretaries,  became  an  organ  ; 
of  intelligence  to  the  Irish  government,  and  obtained 
the  name  of  the  most  loyal  man  in  his  country. 

As  captain  of  yeomanry,  he  clubbed  his  own  tenants 
and  laborers  of  the  dominant  persuasion,  made  his 
returns  full  to  the  government,  distributed  some  of 
the  money  at  his  own  discretion,  pocketed  the  sur- 
plus, kept  the  neighborhood  in  terror,  and  apprehended 
and  committed  to  prison  whom  he  pleased,  and  with  ij 
more  regard  to  prejudice  and  private  feeling  than  to 
justice  or  the  public  peace  ; for  he  was  a man  of  con-  j 
stitutional  timidity;  and,  believing  himself  an  object 
of  popular  execration,  he  acted  as  if  he  was  its  victim. 

Though  in  his  magnificent  house  in  Dublin,  and  his 
seat  at  Mount  Crawley,  he  received  and  entertained 
persons  of  the  first  distinction,  the  Society  he  fre- 1 
quented,  the  circle  in  which  he  moved,  had  produced 
no  influence  on  his  mind  or  manners.  The  stubborn, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


193 


intractable,  incorrigible  vulgarity  which  distinguished 
both,  was  accompanied  by  a sort  of  low  native  humor, 
giving  a peculiar  expression  to  his  shrewd,  leering 
eye,  and  screwed  up  puckered  mouth.  Though  all  re- 
finement, all  mental  illumination  were  placed  beyond 
j the  possibility  of  his  acquirement,  he  had  still  that 
) species  of  natural  sagacity,  that  subtilty  of  littleness, 

• which,  operating  like  instinct,  in  small  circles,  attains 
to  a precision  proportionate  to  its  circumscription, — 
which  has  been  so  well  styled  by  Bacon  a “ left-handed 
wisdom.”  He  possessed  a faculty,  too,  a certain  cheer- 
fulness of  temperament,  a constitutional  hilarity,  which 
hid  out  the  darker  qualities  of  his  character  and  ren- 
i dered  even  the  contempt  he  inspired  free  from  the  as- 
J perity  of  fixed  aversion — in  those,  at  least,  who  were 
: not  the  perpetual  victims  of  his  cruel  malversations. 

! The  laughter  he  excited  blinded  many  to  the  injuries 
he  had  committed ; his  blunders  and  humor  kept  his 
designs  out  of  sight;  and  his  ridicules  were  so  prom- 
inent, and  stood  so  broadly  on  the  surface,  that  if  they 
I did  not  conceal  his  vices,  they  gave,  even  to  his  arts, 
j the  air  of  simplicity. 

At  the  period  when  the  genius  and  worth  of  Ire- 
land, combining  with  all  that  remained  of  public  spirit, 
stood  forward  in  the  cause  of  its  independence,*  when 
the  Irish  parliament  and  the  Irish  law  courts  shone 
j with  a splendor,  soon  eclipsed,  but  never  surpassed,  it 
was  the  fashion  of  the  ruling  party  to  turn  loose  upon 
i the  scene  of  legal  or  senatorial  action  some  ruffianly 
humorist,  some  professional  buffoon,  whose  vulgarity 
might  overbear,  and  whose  unfeeling  impudence  might 
elude,  the  wit  and  the  argument  it  could  neither  van- 
* In  tlie  year  1782. 


194 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


quish  nor  refute.  Low  jest,  coarseness  that  passed 
the  bounds  of  decency,  blunders  that  bordered  on 
fatuity,  (sometimes  the  genuine  products  of  intellect- 
ual confusion,  more  commonly  the  results  of  a long- 
sighted affectation,)  were  then  put  in  requisition,  along 
with  many  other  debasing  schemes,  for  vitiating  public 
taste,  for  corrupting  principles,  blunting  feelings,  and 
subduing  the  spirit  of  a regenerating  and  awakening 
people. 

In  this  school,  and  at  this  period,  Darby  Crawley 
had  studied  deeply.  He  estimated  everything  by  its 
success.  Genius  and  patriotism  (or,  according  to  his 
own  accentuation,  gianius  and  pathretism)  with  him 
meant  folly  and  disloyalty.  But  while  his  experience 
taught  him  the  danger  of  possessing  the  one,  or  of 
cherishing  the  other,  he  had  a high  and  reverential  ap- 
probation for  purchased  acquirements,  for  that  edu- 
cation which  wealth  can  obtain.  Education  had  made 
gentlemen  of  his  brothers ; education  had  made  a fine 
lady  of  his  sister;  education  had  made  his  sons 
wiser  than  their  father ; and  want  of  education  had 
left  himself  upon  the  last  degree  of  the  family  scale, 
whom  nature  had  allotted  to  the  first.  To  .supply  his 
early  deficiencies,  he  became  therefore  a close  copyist 
of  the  sentimental  jargon  and  foreign  slip-slop  of  his 
sister ; and  even  attempted  the  fluent  verbosity  and 
college  pedantry  of  his  youngest  and  most  admired 
son.  But  the  double  treachery  of  a bad  memory  and 
a false  ear  plunged  him  into  inaccuracies  and  mis- 
takes, which  the  reprehension  of  those  two  leading 
members  of  his  family  were  in  vain  applied  to  correct. 

It  was,  however,  curious  to  observe  his  natural 
sagacity,  and  the  intuitive  ability  of  his  low,  creeping, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


195 


sordid  self-interest,  occasionally  assuming  their  supe- 
riority over  the  flimsy  attainments  of  his  brothers 
and  children ; whose  accomplishment  he  was  wont  to 
admire,  and  who,  in  return,  while  they  reverenced  his 
success  in  life,  and  availed  themselves  of  its  advan- 
tage, blushed,  and  looked  down  on  the  ignorance  and 
vulgarity  by  which  it  was  accompanied, 

A wet  evening  in  the  country,  during  the  long  vaca- 
tion, would  frequently  afford  him  an  opportunity  of 
displaying  his  intuitive  views  of  advancement  in  life, 
for  the  benefit  of  those  who  stood  indebted  to  educa- 
tion alone  for  their  distinctions.  Then,  released  from 
the  necessity  of  representation,  and  indulging  to  its 
full  extent  his  natural  vulgarity,  he  might,  as  he  sat 
seated  over  what  he  called  his  “ sup  of  hot,”  (a  tum- 
bler of  punch,)  be  said  to  be  truly  in  his  element. 
Then,  surrounded  by  his  family,  his  sister  presiding 
at  the  tea-table,— his  three  sons  lounging  in  different 
parts  of  the  room, — his  intellect  quickened  by  his 
potations, — his  feelings  softened  into  maudlin  tender- 
ness,—his  eyes  half  closed, — his  punch  half  drank, — 
his  hands  half  clasped, — and  his  thumbs  in  twirling 
motion,  he  would  begin  his  customary  exhortations 
to  his  sons. 

These  domestic  lectures  usually  commenced  with 
drinking  the  health  of  his  children,  to  call  their  atten- 
tion ; then  reproving,  then  advising,  and  at  last  be- 
coming pathetic  as  he  grew  fuddled,  he  usually  con- 
cluded with  his  own  death  and  the  family  ruin,  which 
must  ensue  if  his  advice  was  neglected  and  forgotten. 
“ Tim,  Con,  Thady,  your  healths  ! Anne  Clotworthy, 
my  sarvice  to  you!  Well  then,  Clotty  dear,  will 
never  you  send  away  that  water  bewitched  ? It’s  lit- 


196 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


tie  the  tay  ever  your  mother  drank  at  your  age,  though 
she  got  to  be  the  taydrinkingist  sowl  in  the  barony 
before  she  died,  poor  woman.  Why  then,  Tim  dear, 
have  you  nothing  to  do  but  to  lie  stretched  on  the 
broad  of  your  back  along  my  new  hair-bottoms,  with 
your  arm  dangling  down,  and  surprising  them  inno- 
cent animals  of  flies  on  the  carpet,  that's  strewn  with 
their  corpses?  Upon  my  word,  Tim,  it  would  be 
fitter  for  you  to  be  raiding  the  1 Hints  for  a Magis- 
trate,’ or  1 MacNally’s  Justice  of  Pace;’  you  that  will 
be  in  the  commission,  and  high  sheriif  of  the  county, 
by  promise  since  the  Union.  I wonder,  Tim,  but 
you’d  send  them  game  to  the  bishop  you  brought 
home  last  night,  instead  of  giving  them  to  your  crony, 
the  surveyor;  and  the  bishop,  brother  to  a minister! 
and  he  that  likes  a bit  of  grouse  above  the  world. 
There  is  nothing  better  bestowed  than  that  which  we 
give  to  them  that  want  nothing;  mind  my  words, 
Tim.  Why  then,  captain,  I wish  you’d  quit  with 
your  rattan  against  my  illigant  Northumberland  table, 
and  get  off  it  mtirely.  What  use  is  the  cheers  but  to 
sit  on  ? and  if  you  had  gone,  as  I bid  you,  to  make 
your  compliments  to  the  Gineral  of  the  district  the 
day,  you  wouldn’t  be  playing  your  devil’s  tattoo,  and 
spoiling  my  Northumberland.  I’ve  often  told  you 
the  Gineral  might  make  a man  of  you  with  the  Duke 
of  York.  Is  it  by  whistling  and  rapping  my  stick 
against  the  table  for  the  length  of  a wet  evening,  that 
I got  on  in  the  world  ? No  ; but  night  and  day,  wet 
or  dry,  summer  or  winter,  watching  the  main  chance, 
Thady ; and  when  I hadn't  as  much  for  myself  as 
( cuddy  would  you  taste,’  I had  still  always  a bit  of  a 
dewshure  for  the  great,  a Wicklow  pebble,  or  a lump 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


197 


of  Irish  diamond,  or  an  hundred  of  Puldoody  oysters, 
or  a cask  of  Waterford  sprats,  or  some  sort  of  a pretty 
bougie  for  my  friends.” 

“ Bijou”  interrupted  .Miss  Crawley. 

“ Well,  bijou,  then.  But  apropos  de  bot , Thady,  in 
regard  of  your  flopping  fat  Miss  O’Flaherty  of  Dunore 
on  your  fine  mare,  and  riding  her  round  the  country, 
when  you  couldn’t  plaze  the  Gineral’s  lady  more  than 
giving  her  that  very  mare,  which  only  just  lies  here 
doing  nothing  at  all  hut  aiting  my  hay  , and  corn, 
while  you  are  with  your  regiment  eleven  months  in 
the  year;  for  the  great  likes  a present  every  man 
Jack  of  them;  and  fat  Miss  O’Flahertv’s  a papist,  and 
was  a marked  man  in  the  rebellion,  that’s  her  father ; 
and  her  brother  this  day  in  America : and  is  it  by 
lending  a mare  to  fat  Miss  O’Flaherty  I got  your 
ensigncy  from  the  secretary  of  war,  and  made  a 
captain  of  you,  over  the  heads  of  them  might  be  your 
father  ? No,  faith,  it  was  the  Puldoodies  that  did  it, 
and  being  a good  friend  to  government  through  thick 
and  thin.  What  is  it  you’re  writing  there  in  them 
short  lines,  Conway  Townshend?  Is  it  rhymes? 
Why,  then,  I wish  you’d  lave  off  with  your  poethry 
and  your  gianius : mind  my  words,  Con  dear,  your 
gianius  will  play  you  a dirty  trick  yet ; for  sorrow 
good  gianius  ever  did  for  man  or  beast.  What  was 
it  brought  the  country  into  jeopardy,  and  bull-veasied 
the  government  in  the  year  ’82  ? — Why,  gianius. 
What  was  it  that  set  the  world  wild  with  the  Irish 
volunteers,  the  free  trade,  and  the  Catholic  bill,  and 
Counsellor  Curran,  and  ould  Lord  Charlemont,  with 
his  statues,  and  his  pictures,  and  his  popularity ; and 
Mr.  Grattan,  with  his  people,  and  his  Irish  eloquence  ? 


198 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Why,  wasn’t  it  gianius  ? Och  ! sir,  times  is  changed 
since  then,  since  a man  should  talk  eloquence  and 
pathretism,  and  all  that  Gally-my-jaw,  as  the  French 
call  it,  to  get  on  in  the  world.” 

“ Galimathias ,”  lisped  Miss  Crawley. 

“ Well,  Gally-msftchaw,  then;  and  not  all  as  one  as 
now,  Con,  when  a man  has  only  to  follow  his  nose, 
and  walk  into  place  or  pension,  just  by  sticking  to 
the  main  chance.  Och,  sir,  the  Irish  bar  is  another 
thing  since  them  days.  Tell  me,  Con  dear,  is  it  inde- 
pendence will  get  you  a silk  gown  ? Will  gianius 
make  you  first  counsel  to  the  Commissioners,  with 
your  eight  thousand  a year  for  doing  nothing  at  all 
at  all  ? Will  it  make  you  a deputy  remembrancer, 
with  your  nate  four  thousand,  which  is  the  true  re- 
membrancer? Or  would  gianius,  poethry,  and  pa- 
thretism, with  the  aristocracy  at  their  head  (that  is, 
barring  the  Union  Lords),  get  you  at  this  moment  to 
be  one  of  the  thirty-one  county  session  chairmen,  all 
made  since  the  year  eighty-nine,  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  rising  young  barristers ; or  even  a magis- 
trate of  police,  or  a seneschal  of  the  Dublin  liberties, 
or  a missionary  to  explore  disturbed  districts  ? Troth 
and  faith,  they  wouldn’t ! And  could  do  more  this 
day  myself  for  you  than  the  whole  boiling  of  them, 
in  respect  to  pushing  you  up  the  stick,  Con,  at  the 
bar ; that’s  if  you’ll  lave  off  bothering  us  with  your 
poethry.  For  see  here,  the  thing’s  as  plain  as  pais 
(peas).  Sure,  there’s  spectacles  for  all  ages,  as  well  as 
wigs  and  gowns.  Thanks  to  him  that  served  the 
country  well  when  he  was  in  it,  and  does  to  this  day, 
for  all  he  butters  them  up  with  the  Catholic  question, 
and  votes  on  it  with  his  tongue  in  his  cheek ; and  its 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


199 


on]y  for  him,  the  Crawleys  wouldn’t  be  where  they 
are  the  day.  And  there’s  a little  bone-bush  in  store 
for  you  all  round,  if  you  will  just  be  aisy  and  mind 
your  hits,  and  drive  on  the  ball  when  it  comes  to  you, 
and  be  ready  for  your  turn.  For  there  is  two 
hundred  of  yez,  great  and  small,  ould  and  young, 
walking  the  hall,  with  your  wigs  and  your  bags,  and 
there  is  three  hundred  places  to  divide  among  yez — 
make  money  of  that,  Con ; and  not  one  of  you  but 
may  be  a loyal  man,  and  an  enfant  trouve  of  govern- 
ment, as  the  French  say,  if  he  plazes.” 

“ Enfant  cherif  interrupted  Miss  Crawley. 

“Well,  enfant  cherry,  if  yez  will  just  mind  your 
P’s  and  Q’s ; and  so  now  you  know  the  ways  of  the 
place ; there’s  neither  twining  nor  turning,  but 
straight  forward.  So  let’s  have  no  more  of  your 
rhymes  and  your  gianius,  and  your  satirical  perigrams, 
Counsellor  Con.” 

“ Epigrams,  my  dear  Darby.” 

“ W ell,  epigrams,  then ; but ” 

“ Can’t  you  mind  what  I think,  and  not  what  I say  ? 
for  you’re  not  beholden  to  them,  Con,  with  your  col- 
lege education,  and  your  speaking  French  like  a Na- 
bob. Now,  just  ask  yourself,  is  the  Chief  Baron  a 
gianius  ? or  the  Counsel  to  the  Commissioners  a 
gianius  ? or  was  it  poethry  made  a sergeant  of  your 
uncle? — No;  but  wigging*  all  the  chancellors  that 
ever  were  created,  and  offering  to  kick  a Catho- 
lic barrister,  which  he  didn’t  after  all,  for  a raison'  he 
had ; but  the  will,  sir,  was  taken  for  the  deed.  So 
come  to  your  tay,  Con,  and  be  aisy  with  your 
poethry.” 

* Ear-wigging,  i.  e.  whispering. 


200  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 

“Well,  boys,  dear,  111  see  the4lay  yet,  when  Tm 
dead  and  buried,  God  help  mej  and  in  my  new 
moleseum  in  Dunore  Church,  when  my  words  will 
come  to  pass,  and  you  will  be  thinking  of  your  ould 
father,  Darby  Crawley,  when  some  of  ye z may  have 
titles,  which,  if  ever  there  comes  another  rebellion,  as 
I expect  there  will,  plaze  God — but  that’s  neither 
here  nor  there — only,  just  as  I was  saying,  when  I 
am  dead  and  buried,  and  Clotty  there  places  an 
epithet  over  me,  from  his  affectionate  sister,  and  the 
pew  hung  with  black,  like  the  Dunore s,  I’ll  see  my 
words  come  to  pass,  and  you’ll  remember  your  poor 
father  that  worked  night  and  day  to  make  gentlemen 
and  loyal  men  of  you;  foj;  we  must  all  die,  boys, 
honey,  great  as  we  are.  Momenti  mori , as  the  tomb- 
stone says,  and  the  yeomanry  corps  fire  over  us,  the 
Lord  help  us;  for  dirt  we  are,  and  to  dirt  we  must 
return;  the  Crawleys  like  the  rest.” 

As  this  compound  idea  of  death  and  supremacy 
rounded  off  the  admonitory  peroration  of  Mr.  Craw- 
ley, snuff  and  punch  had  usually  wound  up  his  whin- 
ing sensibility  to  its  utmost  excitement ; and  the  tears 
which  he  shed  for  his  own  death  were  commonly  fol- 
io wred  by  that  profound  sleep  which  images  it. 

On  the  three  hopeful  disciples  of  this  worldly  doc- 
trine, though  its  letter  made  but  little  impression,  its 
spirit  sunk  deep ; and  the  characters  of  the  three 
younger  Messrs.  Crawley  were  but  modifications,  in 
various  degrees  and  proportions,  of  the  moral  quali- 
ties of  the  three  elders.  Timothy  Ilarcourt,  the  high 
sheriff,  the  true  representative  of  the  class  contempt- 
uously designated  by  the  peasantry  as  “the  Squiranty,” 
was  dull,  overbearing,  vulgar,  and  profligate.  At  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


201 


bead  of  a party  association  in  the  country,  gambling 
deeply  at  the  clubs  in  Dublin,  he  everywhere  as- 
sumed airs  of  importance  on  the  strength  of  the  fa- 
mily relations  with  the  government,  and  affected  a 
fashionable  libertinism  in  his  morals,  with  a violent 
outcry  in  favor  of  church  and  state.  Still,  however, 
he  preferred  a cock-fight  at  Dunore,  or  a carousal  at 
the  Dunore  Arms  with  his  friends,  the  port  surveyor 
and  the  sub-sheriff,  to  the  higher  class  of  society, 
which  he  occasionally  commanded,  but  never  enjoyed. 
The  lower  classes,  whom  he  oppressed,  hated  him  to 
abhorrence  ; the  middle  classes  in  the  country  feared 
and  avoided  him;  and  the  higher  circles  won  his 
money,  and  admitted  him  to  their  drinking  parties, 
where  his  intemperance  passed  for  joviality,  and  his 
vulgarity  for  humor. 

Major  Thaddeus  Windham  Crawley  (for  it  is  the 
fashion  among  the  Crawley  class  in  Ireland  to  tack 
the  names  of  viceroys  and  secretaries  to  their  bap- 
tismal appellations)  called  himself  a dasher ; and  was 
a fair  illustration  of  that  term,  as  applied  in  Ireland. 
He  was  handsome,  good-humored,  vulgar,  and  self- 
sufficient.  He  had  seen  a little  service  in  America,  a 
good  deal  in  the  Peninsula ; and  though  his  residence 
in  other  countries  had  cleared  away  many  of  his  local 
prejudices  and  littleness,  it  had  not  added  to  the 
stock  of  his  original  ideas,  and  took  nothing  from  the 
purity  of  bis  original  brogue.  His  phrases  were  all 
broadly  idiomatical ; his  conversation  enriched  with 
regimental  technicalities  and  Irish  slang;  and  when 
he  talked  of  bivouacking  and  wigwams,  of  making  the 
ould  one  come  down  with  the  pipeclay,  sung  “ I am 
the  Man  for  the  Leedies,”  and  described  the  Prince 


202 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Regent’s  levee  (commencing  every  phrase  with  “ I’ll 
give  you  my  honor”),  he  had  gone  through  the  whole 
menage  of  his  intellectual  capabilities.  The  rest  of 
his  existence  was  made  up  with  whistling,  humming, 
drawing  up  his  cravat,  to  make  a sensation  on  the  ap- 
pearance of  a stranger,  reading  the  army-list,  and 
beating  his  rattan  against  his  father’s  Northumber- 
land table. 

The  character  of  the  barrister,  Conway  Townsend 
Crawley,  the  literary  idol  of  his  aunt,  and  usually 
called  Counsellor  Con  by  his  father,  seemed  to  have 
its  foundation  more  particularly  in  temperament,  and 
to  be  of  a more  definite  and  distinct  class  than  that 
of  his  brothers.  It  was  obvious  that  both  its  merits 
and  its  defects  originated  in  physical  infirmity  beyond 
his  control.  Called  by  his  father  his  posthumous  son, 
because  his  mother  died  in  giving  him  life,  his  inaus- 
picious birth  seemed  to  have  entailed  on  him  a bilious, 
saturnine  constitution.  Even  his  talent,  if  talent  it 
might  be  called,  was  but  the  result  of  disease.  No 
“ overflowing  of  the  pancreatic  juices”  had  influenced 
the  system  of  Conway  Crawley,  even  in  that  age 
when  the  blood  is  balm.  The  dark  bile,  which  from 
childhood  sallowed  his  cheek,  dimmed  his  eye,  and 
tinged  the  spirits  of  youth  with  the  causticity  of  age, 
continued,  through  adolescence  and  manhood,  to 
communicate  its  bitterness  to  all  his  views ; turning 
his  words  to  sarcasm,  his  ink  to  gall,  and  his  pen  to  a 
stiletto.  Combining  with  an  education  whose  object 
was  pretension,  and  whose  principle  was  arrogance, 
it  made  him  at  once  a thing  fearful  and  pitiable,  at 
war  with  its  species  and  itself,  ready  to  crush  in  man- 
hood as  to  sting  in  the  cradle,  and  leading  his  over- 


ELORENCE  MACARTHY. 


203 


weening  ambition  to  pursue  its  object  by  ways  dark 
and  hidden, — safe  from  the  penalty  of  crime,  and  ex- 
posed only  to  the  obloquy  which  he  laughed  to  scorn : 
opinion  has  no  punishment  for  the  base. 

If  there  ever  was  a man  formed  alike  by  nature  and 
education  to  betray  the  land  that  gave  him  birth,  and 
to  act  openly  as  the  pander  of  political  corruption,  or 
secretly  as  the  agent  of  defamation,  who  would  stoop 
to  seek  his  fortune  by  effecting  the  fall  of  a frail  wo- 
man, or  would  strive  to  advance  it  by  stabbing  the 
character  of  an  honest  one,  who  could  crush  aspiring 
merit  behind  the  ambuscade  of  anonymous  security, 
while  he  came  forward  openly  in  the  defence  of  the 
vileness  which  rank  sanctified  and  influence  protected, 
that  man  was  Conway  Crawley.  He  was  yet  young ; 
but  belonging  to  the  day  and  the  country  in  which  he 
first  raised  his  hiss  and  shed  his  venom,  success  already 
beckoned  him,  through  the  distant  vista,  towards  her, 
with  a smile  of  encouragement  and  a leer  of  contempt. 
Prompt,  pert,  and  shameless,  he  had  already,  both  at 
the  bar  and  in  society,  evinced  a well-managed  talent 
for  display  and  for  evasion,  a fluency  that  bore  down 
where  it  could  not  convince,  and  an  insolence  which 
humility  could  not  soften,  nor  power  browbeat. 
Lampoons,  which  he  solemnly  denied,  had  been  brought 
home  to  him,  and  obtained  a sort  of  local  notoriety, 
while  they  evinced  talents  which  were  to  pave  his  way 
to  distinctions  more  solid,  by  means  more  ingeniously 
despicable  than  he  had  as  yet  been  called  on  to  exer- 
cise. In  every  pursuit,  “ wisely  shunning  the  broad- 
way  and  the  green,”  his  paths  were  paths  of  darkness ; 
and  had  he  been  found  guilty  of  one  good,  one  gen- 
erous action,  he  would  “ have  blushed  to  find  it  fame.” 


204 


FLORENCE  MACARTHYo 


It  was  by  another  species  of  reputation  that  the  gates 
of  promotion  and  wealth  were  to  be  opened  to  the 
ambition  of  Conway  Townsend  Crawley. 

He  was  now  going  the  Munster  circuit,  and  took 
his  father’s  house  in  his  way  between  two  assize  towns. 
He  did,  however,  but  little  in  his  profession,  notwith- 
standing that  his  father  had  procured  him  several 
crown  prosecutions,  and  had  made  him  counsel  to  two 
boards.  His  views  were  higher  than  thus  to  creep 
through  professional  places,  offices,  and  sinecures,  such 
as  are  now  reserved  for  the  Irish  bar.  He  was  deeply 
interested  in  the  Glannacrime  election,  and  was  law 
agent  for  the  absent  candidate,  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm, 
whom  he  had  never  seen,  but  whose  character  he 
particularly  disliked.  To  his  mother,  the  Dowager 
Marchioness,  he  was  personally  known ; and  to  her, 
while  at  the  Temple,  he  had  paid  most  obsequious  at- 
tention. His  fluency,  his  light  literature,  poetical 
scraps,  and  critical  discussions,  had  passed  upon  this 
capricious  and  powerful  woman  of  fashion,  of  talent, 
wit,  and  erudition;  pretension,  in  this,  as  in  every 
other  instance,  succeeded,  when  it  amalgamated  with 
her  the  well- whipped  froth  of  courtly  sense. 

At  the  head  of  the  females  of  the  Crawley  genus,  with 
all  the  characteristics  of  the  family,  stood  Miss  Anne 
Clotworthy  Crawley;  Anne,  after  her  humble  mother, 
Nancy  Malone,  a brogue-maker’s  daughter  of  Done- 
raile;  and  Clotworthy,  from  a certain  Lady  Clot- 
worthy, who  distributed  poetical  prizes  at  Bath,  and 
to  whom  Miss  Crawley  had  rendered  herself  both 
useful  and  agreeable,  during  a six  months’  residence 
in  that  city,  where  she  had  gone,  at  a late  period  in 
life  for  such  purposes,  to  finish  her  education. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


205 


Her  first  simple  name  she  had  received  at  her  chris- 
tening in  the  steward's  room  at  Court  Fitzadelm, 
forty-five  years  back ; the  second  she  had  adopted  at 
her  confirmation  at  Bath  twenty  years  after.  This 
mature  re-naming  she  called  her  “ sentimental  regene- 
ration and  she  heard  with  horror  a name  so  distin- 
guished, so  dear  to  the  Muses,  (at  least  to  the  Bath 
muses,)  as  Clotworthy,  curtailed  by  the  fraternal 
familiarity  of  her  brother  Darby  into  the  endearing, 
but  ill-sounding,  diminutive  of  Clotty . Against  this 
abbreviation  Miss  Crawley  had  vainly  remonstrated  : 
it  had  seized  both  the  imagination  and  the  affections 
of  her  brother ; and  with  this  good-humored  but  cho- 
leric relation,  she  dared  only  to  go  certain  lengths. 

Placed  at  the  head  of  his  sumptuous  establishment, 
her  alternative  was  living  in  a boarding-house,  on  a 
legacy  left  by  Lady  Clotworthy ; for  as  a resident  in 
the  house  of  her  brother,  the  sergeant,  or  in  that  of 
the  commissioner,  her  two  sisters-in-law  had  shut  the 
door  against  her.  To  live  with  the  great,  to  be 
noticed  by  the  great,  to  influence  and  render  herself 
necessary  to  the  great,  was  the  ambition  and  object 
of  Miss  Crawley’s  existence.  For  this  purpose  she 
took  the  only  paths  open  to  her,  pretension  and  flat- 
tery ; pretension,  arising  out  of  a few  flimsy,  shallow, 
commonplace  acquirements,  the  produce  of  every 
vulgar  boarding-school, — and  flattery,  as  consonant 
to  the  grovelling,  time-serving  spirit  of  her  family, 
and  to  the  smooth,  silky,  insinuating,  serpentizing 
temper  of  her  own  character.  At  once  feeble  and 
vain,  deficient  and  ambitious,  her  original  endowments 
were  below  mediocrity,  and  her  stock  of  literary  and 
sentimental  ideas,  like  the  contents  of  her  boudoir  and 


206 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


library,  was  made  up  of  scraps  and  fragments ; ber 
sensibility  was  gleaned  from  sentimental  novels,  her 
critical  judgments  were  borrowed  from  reviews,  jour- 
nals, and  the  oft-copied  opinions  of  orthodox  autho- 
rity ; and  her  musical  talents  consisted  of  a few  got- 
up  songs,  sung  in  such  tune  as  it  pleased  heaven,  in 
two  airs  on  the  harp,  one  on  the  Spanish  guitar,  and 
four  waltzes  on  the  piano-forte. 

To  these  higher  endowments  she  united  other  little 
“ useful  uselessnesses,”  which  enabled  her  to  supply 
the  wants  of  her  great  friends,  which  she  herself  first 
created.  Cloth  fruit  and  fillagree  baskets,  daubed 
velvet  and  paper  card-racks,  French  mottoes  and 
English  devices,  with  all  the  industrious  arts  which 
bad  taste  supplies  to  unoccupied  mediocrity,  were 
devoted  to  the  drawing-rooms  and  boudoirs  of  the 
great  and  shallow  persons  who  admitted  her  as  their 
inmate.  With  that  cunning  which  invariably  belongs 
to  intellectual  inferiority,  she  rapidly  obtained  the 
secret  of  a dominant  weakness  or  a master-passion ; 
and  she  administered  to  both  with  an  address  worthy 
of  higher  views  and  better  objects.  She  had  little, 
valueless,  appropriate  offerings  for  every  one;  and 
from  an  evangelical  tract,  or  a society  Bible,  down  to 
sugar  sweetmeats  or  paper  dolls,  her  adroitness  ad- 
ministered (and  cheaply  administered)  to  the  passions, 
prejudices  and  infirmities  of  all  ages,  characters  and 
classes. 

There  were  instances,  however.,  where  even  flattery 
failed ; and,  there,  Miss  Crawley  sought  the  dernier 
resort  of  bold,  pushing,  presumptuous  intrusion,  which 
no  delicacy  checked,  no  pride  restrained.  Many  a 
coroneted  dame  has  in  public  felt  the  pressure  of  Miss 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


207 


Crawley’s  arm  on  hers  with  the  half-stifled  swell  of 
provoked  indignation,  mortified  at  her  own  good- 
natured  weakness,  which  could  not  resist  the  impu- 
dent request  of  protection  made  in  the  whining  tone 
of  humble  supplication. 

With  all  this,  Miss  Crawley  got  on;  and  though 
admired  but  by  few,  laughed  at  by  many,  and  pro- 
gressively found  out  by  all,  she  contrived  to  obtain  a 
place  in  society  which  modest  genius  could  scarcely 
hope  for,  and  which  proud  independence  would 
scornfully  reject.  Her  success,  like  that  of  her 
nephews,  belonged  to  the  day,  and  the  circle,  and 
the  family  in  which  she  lived. 

During  the  first  thirty-five  years  of  Miss  Crawley’s 
life,  she  had  professed  herself  devoted  to  friendship 
and  the  muse  ; but  she  by  no  means  suited  the  action 
to  the  word.  Other  altars  than  those  of  Minerva 
had  received  her  adoration ; and  she  had  long  coquet- 
ted (from  the  bench  in  her  brother’s  (the  attorney’s) 
office,  to  the  bench  of  the  Common  Pleas  and  Ex- 
chequer), until  a platonic  engagement  and  senti- 
mental correspondence  with  a certain  Counsellor 
O’Rafferty  induced  her  to  render  her  legal  flirtations 
“ moins  bannales .” 

This  correspondence,  fed  by  the  tenderest  hopes, 
did  not  prevent  other  views  from  being  cultivated. 
Rank  was  her  object;  but  in  failure  of  her  vaulting 
ambition,  which  might  o’erleap  itself,  Counsellor 
O’Rafferty,  whom  she  called  the  “ soft  green  of  her 
soul,”  was  kept  in  quiet  reserve,  until  Counsellor 
O’Rafferty,  unexpectedly  elevated  to  the  bench,  pro- 
nounced a verdict  so  little  favorable  to  Miss  Crawley’s 


208 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


pending  cause,  that  she  saw  herself,  at  forty,  the  victim 
of  a too-confiding  heart,  and  found 

“ What  dust  we  doat  on  when  ’tis  man  we  love.” 

The  delicate  line  which  is  said  to  divide  coquetry 
from  devotion  was  now  broken ; and  an  introduction 
at  this  period  to  some  serious  ladies  of  rank,  (who  in 
Dublin  preside  over  faith  and  tent-stitch,  and  dictate 
creeds  while  they  cut  out  shirts,  for  the  benefit  of 
poor  sempstresses  and  expected  converts,)  together 
with  the  influence  of  an  itinerant  evangelical  preacher, 
the  celebrated  Zachariah  Seare’um,  awakened  her  to 
a vocation  which  induced  her  to  give  to  heaven  all 
that  had  once  been  Counsellor  O'Rafferty’s.  Still, 
however,  she  coquetted  with  religion  as  she  had  co- 
quetted with  the  bar;  and  roused  many  a sturdy 
polemic,  as  she  had  excited  many  a promising  lawyer. 
She  had  ran  in  rapid  succession  through  all  the  shades 
of  the  sectarian  prism,  successively  reflecting  old 
lights,  new  lights,  broadlights  and  twilights,  until 
finally  deciding  that  she  should  never  stand  in  her 
own  light,  she  brought  her  love  of  rank,  power  and 
ascendency  to  quadrate  with  her  religious  system,  and 
settled  down  into  a High  Church  Methodist. 

The  former  fantastic  frippery  of  her  dress  was  then 
changed  into  that  coquettish  simplicity,  adopted  by 
ladies  who  advertise  to  the  world  their  inward  su- 
periority by  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  the 
toilette,— who  pin  up  their  faith  with  their  top-knot, 
indicate  their  piety  by  the  cut  of  their  bonnet,  and 
look  upon  the  bright  hues  and  rich  tints  of  heaven 
and  nature  as  symptoms  of  sin  and  badges  of  iniquity ; 
but  who  nevertheless  bestow  upon  their  ostentatious 
reserve  of  costume,  a care,  a precision,  a singularity, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


2C9 


which  attracts  the  eye  to  their  studied  appearance, 
and  might  put  the  recherche-  taste  of  a finished  Paris- 
ian  milliner  to  the  blush  of  inferiority. 

At  the  head  of  these  pious  petites  mattresses  stood 
Miss  Crawley,  eminently  primitive  in  all  the  exterior 
forms  of  her  calling ; looking  upon  celestial  rosy  red 
with  eyes  averse,  doubting  the  faith  which  pranked 
itself  in  azure, — heaven’s  own  proper  dye,”— giving 
yellow  to  the  devil,  and  placing  coquelicot  beyond 
the  pale  of  salvation;  while  her  own  greys,  fawns, 
puces,  and  snuff  colors,  “ breathing  a browner  horror” 
over  her  swarthy  complexion,  were  chosen  with  all 
the  delicacy  and  selection  belonging  to  the  studied 
faste  of  the  sectarian  wardrobe. 

Mrs.  Sergeant,  and  Mrs.  Commissioner  Crawley, 
were  less  marked  by  peculiarity  than  their  sister-in- 
law,  at  whom  they  laughed, — not  in  contempt,  but  in 
envy : for  they  gave  her  credit  for  all  she  assumed, 
and  hated  her  for  her  success,  as  much  as  if  she  had 
merited  it.  Mrs.  Sergeant  Crawley,  half  Irish,  half 
East  Indian,  with  the  brogue  of  one  country  and  the 
hue  of  the  other,  prided  herself  upon  the  fortune  she 
brought  her  husband,  on  the  size  of  her  house,  and 
the  accomplishments  of  her  four  exhibiting  daughters. 
To  those  grounds  of  self-satisfaction  she  added  the 
honor  and  eternal  boast  of  her  intimacy  with  Lady 
Kilgobbin,  an  old  lady  of  rank  arid  local  consideration, 
who  had  been  left  a solitary  straggler  on  the  Irish 
red  bench,  after  the  dispersion  of  the  nobility  by  the 
Union.  Pew-fellow,  card-player,  and  newsmonger 
in  ordinary  to  Lady  Kilgobbin ; Lady  Kilgobbin  was 
with  Mrs.  Sergeant  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  all 
things. 


210 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


With  Mrs.  Commissioner  Crawley,  on  the  contrary, 
the  Lady  Lieutenant  was  the  alpha  and  omega  of 
special  reference.  Her  life  had,  however,  furnished 
her  with  other  sources  of  pride.  She  had  once  been 
the  yoimg  widow  of  an  old  bishop ; and  when,  with 
an  unprovided  daughter,  and  a portion  of  an  hundred 
a year,  she  accepted  the  hand  of  the  court-favored 
commissioner,  she  had  endeavored  to  perpetuate  the 
recollection  of  her  former  rank  and  connexion  by  per- 
petual references  to  the  memory  of  her  “ dear  late 
lord.’'  Cold,  arrogant,  and  supercilious,  she  mistook 
a dogmatizing  spirit  for  cleverness,  affected  to  despise 
accomplishments,  because  she  was  too  indifferent  and 
too  negligent  of  her  daughter  to  give  her  any,  and 
fancied  herself  a woman  of  fashion,  because  people  ofj 
rank  came  to  her  expensive  parties,  though  they 
laughed  at  her  for  the  pains  she  took  to  induce  their 
visits. 

It  was  impossible  for  any  daughter  to  be  less  like 
her  mother,  or  less  like  the  daughter  of  a bishop,  than 
Miss  Kate  Lesley.  Her  education  had  been  founded 
by  the  maid,  who  had  taught  her  to  read ; and  was 
finished  by  the  footman,  with  whom  she  giggled 
at  the  carriage  window,  while  her  precise  mother  was 
paying  morning  visits.  Not  yet  “ come  out,”  she  was 
fat,  fair,  slovenly,  and  fifteen,  with  her  sleeves  hang- 
ing off  her  shoulders,  her  comb  out  of  her  hair,  and 
her  slipshod  shoes  off  her  feet,  she  was,  in  everything, 
a striking  contrast  to  the  four  wouskydooking,  slight, 
sallow,  overdressed  Miss  Crawleys,  who  had  been 
presented  at  the  Irish  court,  went  to  parties,  and 
played,  sung,  and  waltzed,  for  any  one  who  had  the 
kindness  to  listen,  or  the  benevolence  to  look  at  them. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


What  hempen  homespun  knaves  have  we  swaggering  here  1 
. Shakspeare. 

He  gives  the  bastinado  with  his  tongue : 

Our  cars  are  cudgelled  with  it. 

Ibid. 


In  addition  to  the  Crawley  family,  which  a six  o’clock 
dinner-bell  assembled  at  Mount  Crawley,  were  a few 
guests  supplied  by  the  situation  of  the  country,  and 
the  circumstances  of  the  neighborhood.  They  con- 
sisted of  two  barristers,  friends  and  (in  their  respect- 
ive ways)  toadies  of  the  young  counsellor ; two  pro- 
tectees of  Mr.  Crawley,  senior,  bearing  the  official 
dignities  of  sub-sheriff  and  port  surveyor ; two  coun- 
try gentlemen,  tenants  of  the  Marquis  of  Dunore ; 
and  the  brigade-major  of  the  district,  who,  from  his 
strict  adherence  to  the  prudent  rule  of  never  dancing 
with  the  daughter  where  he  had  not  dined  with  the 
father,  had  obtained  from  the  wits  of  Dunore  the  so- 
briquet of  the  “ cut-mutton-jig  major.” 

Of  the  two  barristers,  the  elder  was  one  of  that 
class  termed  in  London,  Old  Bailey  counsel.  He 
| piqued  himself  principally  upon  the  vulgarity  of  his 
humor,  and  the  coarseness  of  his  address ; he  wore  a 
coat  well  powdered  and  ill  brushed*  and  laughed  at 
l the  legal  coxcombs  who  sought  to  get  rid  of  the 
dust  of  the  courts  before  they  sat  down  to  a circuit 
dinner.  He  might,  however,  be  said  rather  to  enter- 


212 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


tain  the  bar  than  to  practise  at  it ; and  to  pick  up  on 
the  circuit  more  jokes  than  briefs;  He  was  now  a 
sort  of  hanger-on — a proneur  titre f of  Mr.  Conway 
Crawley ; and  was  always  contented  to  swallow  the 
insolent  superiority  of  the  son,  so  long  as  he  was  per- 
mitted to  swallow  with  it  the  claret  of  the  father. 
The  other  barrister,  more  timid  and  more  gentleman- 
like, followed  in  the  track  of  the  young  legal  Bobadil 
from  genuine  admiration,  and  with  a firm  resolve  to 
adopt  his  course,  and  to  trace  his  steps  to  promotion, 
whatever  path  he  might  take ; indolently  reposed  on 
his  higher  genius  for  his  own  future  fortunes,  and 
catered  applause  for  talents  he  emulated,  the  jackal 
of  another’s  vanity. 

The  two  country  gentlemen  were  simply  country 
gentlemen,  such  as  they  are  found  in  Munster.  Gay, 
cordial,  courteous,  hospitable  at  home,  and  convivial 
abroad ; but  a little  out  of  their  natural  element  in 
Mr.  Crawley’s  circle,  where  the  business  of  signing 
leases  alone  had  detained  them.  The  sub-sheriff  and 
surveyor  owed  everything  to  the  Crawley  interest ; 
and  full  of  gratitude  for  favors  yet  to  come,  they 
looked  up  to  Mr.  Crawley,  of  Mount  Crawley,  with  a 
deference,  evinced  in  proportion  to  their  expectations. 
The  applause  which  this  gentleman  usually  extorted 
from  both,  by  a significant  wink  of  the  eye,  whenever 
he  chose  to  be  witty,  or  was  inclined  to  be  humorous, 
was  generally  paid  by  the  sub-sheriff*  in  the  formula 
of  “ That’s  nate  !”  which  the  surveyor  constantly  con- 
firmed by  the  echo  of  “ Mighty  nate  !” 

Such  were  the  party  assembled  in  the  best  draw- 
ing-room of  Mount  Crawley,  when  the  commissioner, 
observing  that  no  verbal  announcement  of  dinner  fol- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


213 


lowed  the  summons  of  the  bell,  turned  to  Mr.  Craw- 
ley impatiently,  and  asked : 

“ Who  do  we  wait  for  ? Do  you  expect  any  one 
to  dinner,  Darby  ?” 

“Not  a Christian, 55  returned  Mr.  Crawley.  “Thady 
dear,  give  the  bell  a touch,  and  bid  them  dish.” 

“You  forget,  brother  Crawley,”  said  his  sister, 
anxiously,  “ that  I told  you,  when  you  came  home,  if 
you  would  have  listened  to  me,  or  to  any  one  but 
Jemmy  Bryan,  that  I had  asked  a gentleman  to  din- 
ner, a very  distinguished  person,  who  called  on  you 
this  morning,  after  you  were  gone  to  Glannacrime.” 

“ Oh,  very  well,  he’ll  be  here  while  dinner’s  dishing, 
I’ll  engage.  Did  he  lave  his  name  ?” 

“ I cannot  tell  you  his  name,”  said  Miss  Crawley, 
with  a smile,  “because  I really  forgot  to  ask  it.  ‘ But 
what’s  in  a name  ?’  as  Romeo  says.  This  I however 
can  tell  you : he  is  not  only  the  most  distinguished, 
but  the  most  poetical-looking  person,  as  dear  Lady 
Clotworthy  would  have  said.” 

“You  know,  Anne  Clotworthy,  I am  always  rather 
a stiptic  to  your  descriptions,”  said  Mr.  Crawley, 
winking  to  the  sub-sheriff,  “ ever  since  you  tould  me 
that  that  Methodist  preacher,  who  came  to  us  on  a 
visit  of  two  days,  and  staid  three  months,  was  an 
angel  without  wings.  He  was  without  wings  sure 
enough,  but  it  was  a scarecrow  without  wings  he 
was  the  very  moral  of.” 

“ That’s  nate  !”  said  the  sub-sheriff. 

“ Mighty  nate  !”  replied  the  surveyor. 

“When  I spoke  of  the  angelic  properties  of  the 
Rev.  Jeremiah  Judd,  I alluded  to  the  inward  man, 
and  I was  induced  to-day  to  believe  for  a moment 


214 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


that  this  gentleman  had  brought  letters  from  him; 
but  though  he  avowed  that  his  mission  into  this  coun- 
try was  of  a serious  nature ” 

“ Then  I’ll  tell  you  once  for  all,  Miss  Crawley,”  in- 
terrupted her  brother  in  a passion,  “ I will  not  have 
my  house  made  a Magdalen  Asylum  to  a parcel  of 
canting  Methodistical  thieves,  who  are  of  no  use  but 
to  set  aside  the  simple  lethargy  of  the  church  service, 
and  to  substitute  the  errors  of  the  Presbyterians  for 
those  of  the  established  faith.  With  your  missions 
and  missionaries,  conversions  and  perversions,  have 
you  left  me  a tinpenny  in  my  pocket,  to  give  to  my 
own  poor  in  New-Town  Mount  Crawley?  And 
pray,  what’s  gone  of  my  one  pound  note  that  w^as  to 
make  Christians  of  the  black  negroes?  Never  saw  a 
single  sowl  of  them  set  foot  in  a church  yet,  barring 
Mrs.  Casey’s  little  black  boy,  that  carries  her  prayer- 
book  to  early  service.  And  I’d  trouble  you  for  my 
eleven  and  fourpence  halfpenny,*  Miss  Crawley,  that 
you  made  me  give  to  get  King  Pomarre,  of  the  Ota- 
heitee  Islands,  to  let  himself  be  baptized;  though  faith 
I believe  it  was  king  of  the  Mummers,  that’s  king  of 
the  hummers  he  was.  And  ’bove  all,  where’s  my  six- 
teen and  threepence,  carried  off  by  your  1 angel  with- 
out wings,’  for  ‘lighting  up  the  dark  villages and 
my  elegant  surtout , that  was  stolen  out  of  the  hall  in 
Merrion  square,  by  your  converted  Jew,  that  was 
waiting  for  your  1 Guide  to  the  Land  of  Promise  ?’  I 
wish  you  had  given  the  devil  his  Jew  (due),  and  left 
me  my  great-coat ; that’s  all,  Miss  Crawley.” 

“ That’s  nate !”  cried  the  sub-sheriff,  looking  to  the 
surveyor. 

* A half-guinea  of  the  old  Irish  currency,  now  no  more. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


215 


“ Mighty  nate !”  echoed  the  surveyor,  nodding  his 
head ; while  Mr.  Crawley,  having  punned  himself  into 
good  humor,  as  the  man  in  the  Guardian  punned  him- 
self out  of  a fever,  and  observing  the  rest  of  the  party 
much  amused  at  this  attack  upon  the  evangelical  and 
dictatorial  Miss  Crawley,  continued,  in  a milder  tone : 

“ Now,  Clotty  dear,  I tould  you  before  that  I never 
would  let  one  of  your  angels  without  wings  roost  in 
my  house  to  the  day  of  my  death,  since  Mr.  Judd’s 
visitation,  who  did  nothing  but  preach  and  ate  from 
morning  to  night,  frightening  the  life  out  of  me,  and 
abusing  the  cook.  I’d  rather  see  the  devil  come  into 
my  house  than  a Methodist  preacher,  Lord  forgive 
me  ! And  thinks  when  there’s  a religion  by  law 
established,  which  qualifies  a man  for  every  place  in 
the  state,  it  may  serve  our  turn,  as  well  as  our  betters. 
If  this  gentleman  then  is  one  of  the  sarious,  one  of 
your  missionaries ” 

“ Here  he  is,  to  speak  for  himself;  here  at  least  is 
one  of  the  Dunore  hack  chaises  driving  up  the  ap- 
proach, so  I’ll  ring  for  dinner,”  observed  the  commis- 
sioner. 

“ Oh ! a hack  chaise,”  said  his  wife  superciliously, 
and  letting  fall  her  spy-glass. 

“Is  it  a hack  chaise?”  asked  Miss  Crawley  in  a 
tone  of  mortification ; but  before  any  other  observa- 
tion could  be  made,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the 
stranger,  unannounced,  appeared.  He  was  in  full 
dress;  and  the  air. with  which  he  entered  the  room, 
and  walked  to  the  place  occupied  by  Miss  Crawley, 
was  marked  by  a certain  disengaged  freedom,  be- 
yond what  is  merely  acquired  in  society — the  ease 
of  conscious,  careless  superiority. 


216 


FLORENCE  MACARTTTY. 


While  he  stood  paying  his  respects,  and  offering 
apologies  for  his  late  arrival  to  Miss  Crawley,  every 
countenance  in  the  room  had  changed  its  expression. 
Some  who  had  risen  even  forgot  to  sit  down;  others 
eyed  him  with  curiosity;  the  four  Miss  Crawleys 
paused  for  a moment  in  their  flirtation  with  the 
barristers  and  brigade-major;  and  Miss  Kate  Lesley 
left  her  shoe  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  where  it 
had  been  thrown  by  Major  Crawley,  whose  manual 
gallantries  she  had  in  vain  resisted,  with  “ Quit  now  ! 
behave,  Thady  Windham,  or  I will  complain  to  your  - 
aunt — I will,  upon  my  honor;”  to  which  the  major 
only  replied  by  twitching  off  her  slipshod  shoe,  and 
reiterating  “ Ton  your  honor !”  The  two  Mesdames 
Crawley  looked  mortified  at  their  demi-toilette,  as- 
sumed for  a family  dinner ; and  Miss  Crawley’s  coun- 
tenance was  radiant  with  triumph,  in  spite  of  the  Du- 
nore  hack  chaise. 

_ Mr.  Crawley,  who  loved  company  when  he  was 
prepared  for  it,  who  liked  his  plate  to  be  seen  when 
he  took  the  trouble  of  displaying  it,  whose^  favorite 
aphorism  on  a company-day  was,  if  there’s  enough 
for  ten  there’s  enough  for  twelve,  and  who  now  felt 
satisfied  that  his  guest  was  not  a Methodist,  advanced 
to  receive  him  with  his  wonted  overcharged  civility ; j 
but  when  that  guest  appeared,  his  head  uncovered, 
and  his  face  turned  full  to  the  light,  the  host  stag- 
gered back  a few  steps,  and  stood'  gazing  on  a form 
and  countenance  that  seemed  to  burst  upon  his  view 
like  some  half-forgotten  image  of  an  unpleasant 
dream.  After  a minute’s  silent  pause,  he  took  his 
youngest  son’s  arm,  who  stood  turning  over  the 
leaves  erf  the  Review,  and,  glancing  a furtive  look 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


217 


at  the  stranger,  drew  him  into  the  open  veranda, 
with  the  manner  of  one  “ perplexed  in  the  extreme.” 

“ Con  dear,”  said  he,  “ can  you  give  a guess  who 
that  chap  is,  or  what  he  is,  or  what  brings  him  here 
at  all?” 

“ I am  sure  I have  not  the  least  idea,  sir,”  replied 
his  son.  “ I don’t  think  his  name  was  announced ; 
but  I suppose  you  will  soon  know  his  business. 
He  seems  a confident,  presuming-looking  coxcomb 
enough ; most  likely  a recruiting  officer,  or  a maud- 
lin traveller  to  the  lakes,  who  will  eat  your  dinners, 
and  put  us  all  into  his  book,  in  return  for  your 
hospitality.” 

“ I don’t  care  where  he  puts  us,  if  he’s  only  a gia- 
nius,”  said  Mr.  Crawley,  evidently  relieved  by  this 
suggestion.  “ If  I was  sure  of  that,  Con, — ” he 
paused,  and  then  added,  e<  It  struck  me  just  at  the 
first  glance  that — but  what  does  that  prove  ? Sure 
they  say  that  I am  the  very  moral  of  Paddy  Duige- 
nan  about  the  corner  of  the  mouth  and  the  eye,  and 
is  no  more  to  him,  either  in  kith,  kin,  or  relationship, 
than  the  Lord  Chancellor,  only  just  playfellows,  when 
slips  of  boys  together,  and  great  cronies.” 

“ Does  this  person  resemble  any  one  you  know  ?” 
asked  young  Crawley.” 

“Dinner  is  announced,  sir,”  said  the  surveyor; 
“ and  Mrs.  Commissioner  Crawley  is  waiting  for  you 
to  hand  her  down,  sir.” 

Ceremony,  with  all  its  laws  of  precedence,  is  the 
cheval  cle  bataille  of  the  demi-officials  of  Ireland. 
Every  guest  in  Mr.  Crawley’s  drawing-room  knew 
his  place,  while  the  Commodore,  alone  accustomed 

to  the  manners  of  foreign  countries,  where  the  circle 


218 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  private  salons  neutralizes  all  rank,  offered  his  arm 
to  Miss  Crawley,  because  he  stood  next  her;  but  she 
gently  resisted  the  offer,  and  the  procession  began. 
Mr.  Crawley  led  out  Mrs.  Commissioner  Crawley, 
Mr.  Commissioner  led  out  Mrs.  Sergeant,  Mr.  Ser- 
geant escorted  the  elder  Miss  Crawley,.  Miss  Lesley, 
as  a bishop's  daughter,  claimed  the  pas  of  the  four 
Miss  Crawleys,  and  was  ushered  by  the  high-sheriff ; 
the  four  Miss  Crawleys  were  divided  amongst  the 
lawyers,  the  brigade-major,  and  their  cousins ; Coun- 
sellor Con  followed  alone,  proudly  pre-eminent,  and 
took  his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  table;  the  sub-sheriff 
and  surveyor  bowed  each  other  out  with  pompous 
solemnity.  The  stranger  and  the  two  country  gen- 
tlemen having  “ done  the  state  no  service,”  and  being 
without  any  precise  Hat  in  this  official  hierarchy, 
were  left  to  arrange  their  precedence  as  they  might ; 
and  they  followed  last  in  the  train  which  proceeded 
to  the  dining-room. 

The  tables  of  these  demi-officials  are  distinguished 
by  a sumptuousness,  a luxury,  an  extravagance,  almost 
unknown,  beyond  the  highest  ranks  in  other  countries. 

The  dinner-table  of  Mr.  Darby  Crawley,  attorney- 
at-law,  differed  in  nothing  from  that  of  the  Lord 
Chancellor  of  Ireland,  except  in  the  polish  of  him  that 
presided.  Services  and  reldbes  succeeded  each  other 
in  due  alternation.  The  soup,  fish,  and  pates  were 
swallowed  in  solemn  silence ; but  when  the  first  flush 
of  appetite  subsided,  champagne  circled,  burgundy 
went  round,  old  hock  was  recommended,  and  every 
one  talked  across  the  table,  round  the  table,  and  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  table. 

Mr.  Crawley,  who  had  raised  his  eye3  to  the  stran- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


219 


jeer’s  face  between  every  spoonful  of  his  soup,  ques- 
tioned him  with  great  civility,  but  with  great  hesita- 
tion, on  his  opinion  of  the  country ; and  by  degrees 
yielded  up  his  uneasy,  vague,  and  undefinable  sensa- 
tions of  perplexity  to  the  influence  of  the  frank 
replies  of  his  nameless  guest,  and  to  the  exhilaration 
of  his  own  sparkling  champagne  and  burgundy. 
Thus  restored  to  his  ease,  convivial,  talkative,  and 
ridiculous  as  usual,  he  mentally  observed,  as  he  helped 
himself  to  mock-turtle,  his  favorite  dish,  “ I wonder 
what  the  devil  came  over  me,  making  a Judy  Fitz- 
simmons of  myself  about  nothing  at  all — -and  all  for  a 
look,  which  is  no  proof — how  could  it  ?” 

Thus  finally  chasing  the  unpleasant  impressions 
(whatever  they  might  be)  from  his  mind,  he  gave  up 
his  attention  to  a series  of  bad  jokes  and  circuit  anec- 
dotes, told  with  a broad,  vulgar,  slang  humor  by 
young  Crawley’s  elder  friend,  Counsellor  Mulligan. 
This  facetious  barrister  having  just  finished  a good 
story,  of  which  Judge  Aubrey  and  Baron  Boulter 
(the  judges  then  on  circuit)  were  the  heroes,  he  ob- 
served, turning  to  Mr.  Crawley  : 

“ By-the-bye,  sir,  Judge  Aubrey  has  let  out  the  Ra- 
bragh,  whom  you  put  up  last  summer,  and  whom 
Baron  Boulter  left  in  Tipperary  jail  under  rule  of 
bail.” 

“■So  I hear,”  said  Mr.  Crawley;  “but  bathershin  (as 
the  Irish  say),  mind  my  words,  Counsellor  Mulligan, 
I’ll  have  the  Rabragh  where  he  wont  so  easily  get 
lave  of  absence;  that’s,  with  due  deference  for  Judge 
Aubrey  : and  has  good  reason  to  know  (though 
nothing  has  been  brought  against  him  yet)  he’s  at 


220 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  bottom  of  everything  in  this  country,  Padreen 
Gar's  boys  and  all.” 

“ Have  you  seen  Conway’s  ‘ Familiar  Epistle  to  a 
Jacobin  Judge,7  written  on  that  occasion?  By  Jove, 
’tis  the  best  hit  that  ever  was  made,  and  has  set  the 
judge  wild,  they  say.” 

‘No,  I have  not,  Counsellor  Mulligan,  nor  doesn’t 
care  if  I never  see  a scrap  of  his  poethry  again,  while 
I live ; and  wishes  he  would  lave  off  with  his  hits.” 

“ Me !”  said  Conway,  tossing  off  a glass  of  liquor 
(for  the  dessert  was  now  on  the  table).  “ Upon  my 
honor  I didn  t write  the  lampoon  which  was  circu- 
lated at  Cork,  if  you  mean  that.”  And  he  felt  as  he 
spoke  for  the  manuscript  in  his  pocket.  “I  don’t 
know  how  it  is,”  he  added,  conceitedly,  “ but  every 
wicked  thing  is  laid  at  my  door.” 

“ Every  witty  thing  is,”  said  the  timid  young  bar- 
rister, with  a smile. 

“ Well ! that  comes  to  the  same  thing.  I had  just 
the  same  fatal  pre-eminence  when  I was  at  the  Tem- 
ple. All  the  foundling  genius  of  the  inns  of  court 
was  placed  to  my  account.” 

“ I wish,”  said  Mr.  Crawley,  flinging  an  apple  skin 
violently  from  him,  “ there  never  was  a gianius  in  the 
world.  What  use  in  them  ? What  good  did  ever 
one  of  them  do?  No,  but  great  harm;  and  when  a 
man  is  rared  at  college,  and  has  read  the  classics  and 
the  college  course,  what  call  has  he  to  gianius  after 
that  ?” 

“ I doubt,  however,  my  dear  Darby,”  said  the  ser- 
geant, projecting  an  immense  pair  of  bushy  black 
eyebrows,  in  which  lay  all  his  reputation,  and  over 
which  he  exercised  a singular  power  of  contraction 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


221 


and  expansion — “ I doubt  that  we  should  have  had 
the  classics  to  read  in  college,  if  there  had  not  been 
authors,  and  what  are  called  men  of  genius  to  write 
them.” 

“You  are  quite  right,  William,”  said  his  brother, 
the  commissioner,  speaking  with  the  authority  of  one 
who  presided  at  “ a board “ for  if  we  must  have 
books  to  read,  there  must  be  authors  to  write  them, 
that’s  certain.” 

“ C'est  clciir  /”  said  Conway  Crawley,  in  a tone  of 
ridicule  (frequently  directed  at  his  uncles),  and  with  a 
smile  of  intelligence  at  his  aunt,  who  had  hitherto 
vainly  endeavored  to  draw  the  Commodore  into  con- 
versation across  the  table. 

uCyest  clair  indeed !”  repeated  Miss  Crawley,  with 
an  affected  laugh. 

“See  Clare,”  reiterated  Mr.  Crawley,  senior,  angrily: 
“ well,  and  see  Clare,  and  see  Lyttleton  upon  Coke, 
and  see  all  the  great  crown  lawyers  that  ever  wrote, 
and  see  if  ever  one  of  them  wrote  a line  of  poethry. 
Chancellor  Clare  hadn’t  as  much  gianius  for  poethry 
as  my  foot,  and  if  he  had,  would  have  been  ashamed 
to  own  it.” 

“ I am  not  now,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  delighted  with 
the  turn  conversation  was  taking,  “ as  once,  an  advo- 
cate for  the  ‘idle  visions  of  the  brain.’  But  still  I 
think  no  chancellor  need  have  been  ashamed  of  pro- 
ducing such  poetry  as  Watt’s  Hymns,  nor  do  I see 
why  Themis  and  Apollo  should  not  have  their  liaisons” 

“ I am  afraid,  aunt,”  said  Conway,  “ that,  as  my  fa- 
ther supposes,  they  would  be  ‘ liaisons  danger euses? 
Blackstone,  however,  was  a poet.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  “ and  it  was  a private 


222 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


traditional  ane.cdote  of  Shenstone  in  the  Clotworthy 
family  (for  Lady  Clotworthy  was  his  relation),  that 
the  sweet  bard  of  the  Leasowes  was  intended  for  the 
English  bar ; and  surely  had  he  sat  upon  the  wool- 
sack, he  would  not  have  denied  being  the  author  of 
that  sweetly  moral  and  simply  pastoral  eclogue — 

£ I have  found  out  a gift  for  my  fair, 

I have  found  where  the  wood-pigeon  breeds.’  ” 

“ Oh,  dacency ! Miss  Crawley,”  interrupted  her 
brother  Darby,  winking  at  the  sub-sheriff,  while  the 
ladies  smiled.  Miss  Crawley,  placing  the  smile  to  the 
right  account,  triumphantly  went  on — 

“ But  let  me  that  plunder  forbear, 

She  will  say  ’tis  a barbarous  deed.” 

“ Sorrow  harm  I see  in  robbing  a bird’s  nest,  sir,” 
said  the  sub-sheriff,  addressing  his  critique  to  Mr. 
Crawley,  in  conformity  to  his  patron’s  very  humorous 
look  at  the  moment — 

“ For  he  ne’er  can  be  true  she’ll  aver 
Who  could  rob  a poor  bird  of  her  young.” 

“ Oh ! a most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion,  my 
good  aunt.  But  for  heaven’s  sake  give  us  no  more 
of  that  fadaisc ,”  said  Conway  Crawley — “ that  gone- 
by  trash,  which  is  worthy  of  the  Della  Cruscan 
school,  only  that  it  is  still  more  insipid,  and  would 
scarcely  furnish  my  friend  of  the  Baviad  and  Moeviad 
a peg  to  hang  a note  on.” 

“ But  your  friend  of  the  Baviad,  my  dear  Conway, 
got  out  of  all  keeping  when  he  called  Anna  Matilda 
‘ a wretched  woman’  and  other  hard  names;  especially 
as  it  was  known  in  the  literary  circles  of  Bath  and 
Litchfield  that  Anna  Matilda  was  dear  Lady  Clot- 
worthy.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


223 


“ Lady  Clotworthy  ! not  a bit,”  reiterated  Conway 
Crawley.  “ Anna  Matilda  wTas  neither  more  nor  less 
than  that  enfant  glte  of  a particular  set,  Mrs.  Cowley, 
the  author  of  that  tissue  of  all  nonsense  and  absurd- 
ity, the  Belle’s  Stratagem.” 

• ' 1 The  Belle’s  Stratagem  !”  said  Mrs.  Commissioner. 
“ Why  the  Lady  Lieutenant  bespoke  it  this  winter. 
It  was  played  by  command ; and  I had  seats  in  the 
next  box  to  her.” 

“And  I,”  said  Mrs.  Sergeant,  “ had  a row  in  Lady 
Kilgobbin’s  box  for  the  girls  and  myself,  and  we 
thought  it  a charming  comedy,  so  much  fashionable 
life  in  it.  And  Letitia  Hardy  so  talented,  as  Lady 
Kilgobbin  said,  and  sung,  and  waltzed  so  delightfully.” 

“ It  certainly  is  a very  amusing  comedy,”  said  the 
commissioner  authoritatively. 

“ Very  amusing,”  said  the  sergeant,  with  his  eye- 
brows. 

“ The  Belle’s  Stratagem,”  said  young  Crawley,  with 
cool  insolence  of  look  and  tone,  and  folding  his  arms 
upon  the  table,  “ is,  what  I have  asserted  it  to  be,  a 
tissue  of  nonsense  and  absurdity.  I repeat  the  words. 
’Tis  more,  ’tis  a crying  sin  against  good  taste,  good 
sense,  good  manners,  and  good  morals.  Its  very  title 
justifies  every  word  of  my  assertion.  The  Belle’s 
Stratagem ! observe — Belle,  a foolish  French  term  for 
a young  woman,  according  to  Johnson,  and  . so  used 
by  Pope,  in  his  Rape  of  the  Lock.  Stratagem,  too,  a 
term  derived  from  the  Greek,  etymologically  meaning 
an  artifice,  or  ru>:e  de  guerre , a device,  trick,  imposi- 
tion. The  trick  of  a young  woman,  to  take  in  a 
young  man  of  fortune.  A notable  play  for  mothers 
to  take  their  daughters  to,  truly !” 


224 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ 1 wonder,  my  dear,”  said  the  sergeant,  with  an 
unusual  projection  of  the  eyebrows,  “ you  should  take 
the  girls  to  such  a thing.” 

“Lady  Kilgobbin — ” interrupted  Mrs.  Crawley;  but 
their  nephew  interrupting  both,  and  bearing  down  all 
before  him,  poured  forth  a torrent  of  hypercriticism, 
imposing  in  proportion  to  its  shallowness;  refining 
away  the  merits,  exaggerating  the  faults,  misquoting, 
misrepresenting,  and  misjudging  one  of  the  most  ele- 
gant and  popular  comedies  on  the  English  stage, 
until  all  those,  who  had  given  it  their  unequivocal  ap- 
probation a few  minutes  before,  endeavored  to  ex- 
piate their  former  hasty,  but  independent  judgments, 
by  approving,  seconding,  and  adopting  that  of  this 
formidable  Zoilus  of  the  Crawley  family. 

During  this  tedious,  but  fluent  tirade  of  pedantic 
critical  jargon,  Miss  Crawley  sat  transported;  and 
only  fearful  that  a conversation  should  cease,  in  which 
she  and  her  eleve  were  alone,  of  all  the  race  of  the 
Crawleys,  calculated  to  shine,  she  endeavored  to  keep 
up  the  ball,  while  the  nephew  paused  to  take  his 
claret. 

To  force  the  stranger  into  the  lists,  she  asked  him 
across  the  table : “ May  I beg  to  know  what  is  your 
opinion  of  the  English  poets  in  general  ?” 

This  sweeping  question  startled  the  Commodore 
into  a sudden  and  abrupt  ejaculation  of  “ madam  !” 
Every  one  smiled : Mr.  Crawley  winked  at  the  sur- 
veyor; and  Miss  Crawley,  with  her  former  suspicions 
of  the  stranger’s  vocations,  revived  by  his  silence  and 
gravity,  and  by  the  little  part  he  had  taken  in  a con- 
versation, hitherto  unworthy  of  the  “ elect  of  the 
Lord,”  added  with  a demure  and  primitive  air,  “ Your 

% «_• 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


225 


poetical  studies  are,  perhaps,  from  necessi  y,  far  from 
general;  but  Milton’s  divine  poem  of  the  Paradise 
Lost  may  have  come  under  your  observation,  and 
stood  the  test  of  your  critical  acumen ; if ” 

“ The  term  1 divine,’  my  dear  aunt,”  interrupted  the 
“ never-ending,  still  beginning”  nephew,  “ is  rather 
strong  to  be  applied  to  an  uninspired  writer;  and 
most  of  all  to  such  a poet,  and  such  a poem  as  Milton, 
and  his  Paradise  Lost.  I don’t,  however,  mean  to  say 
— pray  hear  me  out,  madam — -that  Milton  was  not  a 
poet,  and  a good  poet;  but  I must  add,  that  he  was  a 
most  profane  writer,  and  a most  sacrilegious  paro- 
dist,— nay,  grant  me  your  patience  one  moment.” 

“ I only  mean  to  say,  in  my  own  exculpation,  Con- 
way Townsend,  that  the  term  divine,  as  applied  to 
Milton,  does  not  originate  with  me ; that  others  of 
higher  authority -” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I know,  ma’am,  what  you  would  say  : and 
it  is  very  true,  that  within  the  last  century  Milton  has 
enjoyed  a most  preposterous  fame,  a most  exagger- 
ated, unmerited  celebrity  ; a fame  wdiolly  denied  to 
him  by  his  cotemporaries,  the  best  judges ; for,  after 
all  the  trash  that  is  talked  about  posterity,  the  true 
reputation  is  cotemporary  reputation,  tangible  fame, 
fame  that  one  can  lay  one’s  finger  on,  that  one  can 
touch.” 

“ Devil  a bit,  Counsellor  Con,  but  I give  you  credit 
for  that,”  said  his  father,  cracking  a nut  between  his 
teeth ; “ touch  and  go,  sir,  that’s  the  ra’al  fame,  for 
my  money.  Sub,  hand  up  the  port,  and  put  the 
church  in  the  middle  of  the  parish — ergo , the  salt- 
cellar— I always  take  my  nuts  turn  grano  sails,  as  the 
French  say.” 


226 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ But,”  continued  young  Crawley, “ even  tlie  fame 
which  posterity,  that  is,  which  the  last  century  have 
bestowed  on  Milton,  cannot  be  called  legitimate  fame. 
It  is  his  political  principles,  that  harmonize  with  the 
revolutionary  systems  of  the  last  fifty  years,  which 
have  given  to  the  sturdy  jacobin  the  fame  that  is  sup- 
posed to  be  extorted  by  the  poet,  a poet,  by-the-bye, 

who  has  taken  the  devil  for  his  hero 

“ The  Lord  bless  us  !”  said  Mr.  Crawley,  throwing 
down  his  nutshells  in  pious  horror. 

“ hell  for  his  principal  scene  of  action,  and  re- 

bellion for  his  theme,”  continued  young  Crawley. 

“ Why  then,  who  is  he  at  all  ?”  asked  his  father 
with  vehemence.  4t  Will  nobody  tell  me  ?” 

“ And  of  this  I am  certain,  that  had  he  published 
his  Paradise  Lost  in  the  present  day,  there  is  not  one 
genuine  English  review  that  would  not  have  de- 
nounced him  for  an  impious  parodist,  and  condemned 
him,  out  of  his  own  words,  as  profane,  jacobinical, 
indecent,  and  immoral.” 

Everybody  shook  their  heads,  though  nobody 
knew  why ; while  Mr.  Crawley,  stealing  a timid,  sus- 
picious look  at  the  stranger,  and  then  turning  to  his 
sister,  observed : 

“Til  trouble  you,  Miss  Crawley,  not  to  mention 
that  man,  whoever  he  is,  any  more  at  my  table. 
How  do  I know  but  every  wrord  of  the  conversation 
may  be  reported  at  the  castle,  and  the  secatary  think 
I’m  hand  and  glove  with  him.” 

“ It  is  curious,”  continued  Conway,  not  even  hear- 
ing his  father,  and  borne  away  by  the  shallow  rapid- 
ity of  his  own  exhaustless  volubility,  “ it  is  curious  to 
observe  Milton’s  hatred  of  kings  breaking  out  in  some 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


227 


of  his  most  poetical  effusions.  Thus,  in  his  famous 
simile : 

* As  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 

Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 

Shorn  of  its  beams  ; or  from  behind  the  moon 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs.’  ** 

u Perplex  a monarch !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Crawley, 
inarticulate  from  vehemence.  “ Och ! the  thief  of  the 
world ! Why,  then,  Con,  where  was  the  Suspendeas 
Corpus  Act?  Where  was  the  law  of  libel  ? What 
was  the  attorney-general  about  ?” 

“ The  fact  is,”  said  young  Crawley,  taking  snuff, 
and  pushing  on  the  box,  “ that,  notwithstanding  the 
legitimate  prince  was  then  but  recently  seated  on 
his  throne,  and  the  reins  of  government  still  hung 
loose,  this  passage  nearly  caused  the  suppression  of 
the  book  by  the  royal  licenser ; and  Milton  and  his 
Paradise  Lost  would  then  have  been  condemned  to 
eternal  oblivion  (we  cannot  say  unjustly),  and  sacri- 
ficed to  the  insulted  majesty  of  the  house  of  Stuart.” 
“ Better,”  exclaimed  the  Commodore,  with  a sud- 
den explosion  of  fiery  indignation  that  resembled  the 
brilliant  bursting  of  a sky-rocket,  “ better  that  the 
whole  line  of  Stuarts  should  be  given  to  oblivion 
than  that  one  bright  effusion  of  the  genius  of  Milton 
i should  be  lost  to  the  great  nation,  whose  intellectual 
glory  it  has  raised  above  that  of  all  modern  people. 
Any  land  might  have  produced  the  Stuarts;  and  one' 
! land,  blushing  to  own  them  for  her  sons,  twice  drove 
1 them  from  her  shores,  a false  and  feeble  race,  whom 
Milton  would  not  flatter,  and  Sydney  could  not  save.” 
A dead  silence  followed  this  animated  burst  of  un- 


228 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


controllable  feeling.  All  were  struck,  as  much  by  the 
manner  as  by  the  matter  of  the  unexpected  apostro- 
phe. But  if  all  were  startled,  old  Crawley  was  con- 
founded. His  son,  darkling  with  ire  and  irritation, 
sat  for  a moment  silent  as  the  rest : while  his  father, 
whose  native  cowardice  had  taken  the  alarm,  doubted 
whether  a French  spy,  a government  informer,  or  an 
Irish  rebel,  now  sat  at  his  table.  He  was  even  half 
inclined  to  send  out  an  ukase  to  Jemmy  Bryan  and 
his  myrmidons  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness ; but 
he  first  resolved,  before  he  took  any  decided  step,  to 
give  a toast  as  a pierre  de  touche  of  the  stranger’s  poli- 
tical creed,  a toast  which  he  considered  as  the  watch- 
word of  his  own  dominant  party.  Passing,  therefore, 
his  hand  over  his  face,  so  as  to  give  a significant  wink 
to  his  youngest  son,  unseen  by  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, he  exclaimed : 

“ Come,  Counsellor  Con,  fill  the  gentleman’s  glass 
next  you : I don't  mane  to  give  you  a hint,  ladies,  but 
before  you  go,  you  must  all  join  in  a toast,  which  I 
believe  no  one  will  refuse  to  drink  in  this  house ; this 
is,  sir,”  (nodding  to  the  Commodore,)  “ the  glorious 
and  immortal— — -” 

“ The  glorious  and  immortal  what,  sir  ?”  asked  his 
guest,  putting  a little  wine  in  his  glass. 

“ Why,  the  glorious  and  immortal  memory ; every 
loyal  man  knows  that.” 

“ I hope  I shall  not  forfeit  my  claim  to  that  desig-  j 
nation,  by  confessing  I have  yet  to  learn  whose  happy 
memory  has  merited  these  distinguished  epithets.” 

Mr.  Crawley  pulled  down  his  little  “ Beresford 
bob,”  as  he  called  his  wig ; he  was  not  prepared  to 
answer  such  an  unexpected  question:  and  his  son, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


229 


seeing  his  perplexity,  promptly  came  to  his  relief,  ob- 
serving coldly  and  superciliously  to  the  stranger, 
“My  father,  sir,  gives  a toast,  which  in  Ireland,  at 
least,  requires  no  explanation ; he  gives  the  glorious 
and  immortal  memory  of  William  the  Third.” 

“ I drink  it  with  all  my  soul,”  said  the  Commodore, 
with  animation,  filling  first  his  own  glass  to  the  brim, 
and  then  that  of  the  poor  Catholic  gentleman,  who  sat 
next  him,  and  to  whom  “ the  glorious  and  immortal” 
was  the  memory  of  the  overthrow  of  his  religion,  the 
ruin  of  the  fortunes  and  the  hopes  of  his  family.  “ The 
memory  of  William  of  Nassau,”  continued  the  stran- 
ger, “ should  find  its  monument  in  the  breast  of  every 
true  lover  of  British  freedom : it  is  the  memory  of  a 
great  captain,  chosen  by  a great  nation  to  lead  it  forth 
in  the  defence  of  its  natural  rights  and  dear-bought 
constitution,  and  to  drive  from  the  violated  sanctu- 
ary of  their  laws  that  despotic  bigot,  whose  feeble- 
ness and  corruption  had  forced  a loyal  people  into  the 
hazardous  experiment  of  revolution ! with  such  recol- 
lections I drink,”  and  he  arose  as  he  spoke,  “ to  the 
glorious  memory  of  William  the  Third.” 

This  was  so  new  an  exposition  of  the  revered  text 
of  “ the  glorious  and  immortal,”  that  Mr.  Crawley 
senior  was  not  the  only  person  present  whom  it  puz- 
zled. With  this  party  of  placemen,  “ the  glorious  and 
immortal”  had  but  one  signification ; it  was  the  watch- 
word of  their  own  influence,  the  cry  of  their  own 
petty  but  powerful  ascendency:  and  these  genuine 
Tories,  these  advocates  of  their  own  arbitrary  power, 
had  been  all  their  lives  giving  the  Whiggish  toast, 
without  an  idea  attached  to  it,  save  the  subjection  of 
the  Catholic  population^  an  unequal  distribution  of 


280 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


rights,  and  the  supremacy  of  a narrow,  bigoted,  and 
impolitic  intolerance.  Miss  Crawley,  wholly  thrown 
out  as  to  her  former  opinions  of  the  stranger,  came  to 
her  nephew’s  relief  by  observing,  “ Well,  before  I go, 
I must  express  my  regret  that  a few  literary  remarks 
thrown  out  at  random  should  have  led  to  anything 
like  political  discussion ; and  in  my  own  defence  must 
say,  that  the  eulogium  I ventured  to  pass  on  Milton 
was  wholly  confined  to  his  poetry;  for  I believe, 
whatever  may  have  been  his  principles  as  a politician, 
he  is,  undeniably,  a good  poet.” 

“ He  has  written  a good  poem  of  the  second  order,” 
said  young  Crawley,  rallying,  “ for,  strictly  speaking, 
the  Paradise  Lost  is  not  an  epic ; and  in  a moral  point 
of  view,  there  is  not  one  maxim  of  prudence  or  con- 
duct to  be  drawn  from  it.  Besides,  one-half  of  his 
poetical  beauties  are  downright  plagiarisms  from  the 
ancients,  in  whose  snow  I can  track  him  at  every 
step.  Thus : 

‘ As  when  heaven’s  fire  has  scath’d  the  forest  oak,  &c.,’ 
happens  to  be  a cento  made  up  from  Homer  and  Yir- 
gil ; and  again, 

‘ Thrice  he  essay’d  to  speak,  &c.,’ 

is  Ovid’s  1 Ter  conata  loqui , et  ter  vox  faucibus  hcesit? 
This,  sir,  however,”  and  he  turned  to  the  stranger 
with  a triumphant  sneer,  “ may  appear  fiat  heresy  to 
you,  and  a new  reading  of  your  favorite  author.” 
“New!  not  at  all,”  returned  the  Commodore,  care- 
lessly ; “ I have  read  every  word  of  it  long  since,  in 
the  dull  forgeries  of  that  convicted  impostor,  Lauder; 
but  since  the  ingenious  detection  of  Douglas,  I had 
imagined  that  Milton’s  plagiarisms  had  been  at  rest, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


231 


or  remembered  only  as  warnings  against  literary  ere- 
dulity.” 

“ Shall  we  go,  Mrs.  Crawley  ?”  asked  Miss  Craw- 
ley, rising  and  coloring,  while  the  complexion  of  her 
nephew  deepened  in  its  sallow  hue,  and  became  dark 
wfith  ire  and  mortification.  He  was  wholly  unpre- 
pared for  the  detection  of  his  gotten-up  criticisms,  j 
even  before  an  audience  so  insignificant.  This  singu- 
lar stranger,  who  sat  a nameless  guest  at  his  father’s 
table,  with  his  bursts  of  light  and  involutions  of  dark- 
ness, his  habitual  reserve  and  silence,  and  his  occa- 
sional involuntary  explosions  of  mind,  seemed  to 
hover  like  an  incubus  over  the  vision  of  his  self-im- 
portance. Always  the  centre  of  his  own  circle,  he 
was  alike  unused  to  opposition  or  superiority;  and 
from  this  moment  the  stranger  became  the  object  of 
that  strenuous,  inveterate,  and  unappeasable  enmity, 
which  springs  from  the  wounded  self-love  of  a vain 
man. 

The  retreat  of  the  ladies,  the  removal  of  the  great 
table,  and  the  placing  of  a smaller  one,  the  prepara- 
tions for  whiskey  punch  (asked  for  by  the  sub-sheriff 
and  surveyor,  and  eminently  enjoyed  by  Mr.  Craw- 
ley, who  confessed  himself  no  accoucheur  in  wine), 
with  the  change  of  seats  incidental  to  the  separation 
of  the  sexes  after  dinner,  occupied  a considerable 
time ; and  the  Commodore  was  on  the  point  of  tak- 
ing advantage  of  his  seat  next  Mr.  Crawley,  to  men- 
tion to  him  the  business  which  had  brought  him  to 
Mount  Crawley,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  a servant,  bearing  a letter  to  the  master  of 
the  house. 

“ A coronet  sale”  (seal),  said  Mr.  Crawley,  wiping 


232 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


liis  spectacles  : “the  Dunore  crest,  the  Marchioness’s 
hand.  James,  come  back  here.  Who  brought  this 
letter ; it  isn’t  a post  one,  sure  ?” 

“ It  is  not,  sir ; it  came  by  express ; a castle  ex- 
press. The  dragoon  has  just  gone  down  to  the  horse 
barrack.” 

“ A castle  express  !”  said  Mr.  Crawley,  opening 
the  letter  with  trepidation,  while  his  son  Conway 
took  his  seat  at  the  back  of  his  chair.  I 

“ Hem  ! Emily  Dunore — Dublin  Castle,  August 
25,”  read  aloud  Mr.  Crawley,  glancing  his  eye  over 
the  page  to  the  signature  and  address ; then  rising, 
he  retired  to  a remote  table  with  his  son,  in  evident 
perturbation.  After  the  perusal  of  the  letter,  and  a 
few  moments’  conference,  the  father  and  son  rejoined 
the  party. 

“ Here  is  good  news,”  said  young  Crawley,  with 
affected  gaiety,  while  his  father  remained  silent. 

“ Lady  Dunore  is  arrived  in  Dublin,  and  is  coming 
to  Dunore  Castle  immediately.  She  is  merely  re- 
cruiting from  the  fatigues  of  her  voyage,  with  her 
friends,  the  viceregals,  and  then  sets  off  with  a large 
party.” 

“ Come,  sir,”  addressing  his  dejected  father,  “ we’ll 
drink  to  her  ladyship’s  speedy  and  safe  arrival.” 

The  toast  went  round,  and  many  comments  were 
made  on  the  effects  of  this  event.  The  Protestant 
country  gentlemen  observed : 

“ This  will  give  a helping  hand  to  the  election. 
The  presence  of  Lady  Dunore  on  the  spot  will  be  of 
infinite  service  to  her  son’s  cause  at  Glannacrime.” 

“ It  will  be  of  service,”  said  young  Crawley. 

“ Why,  I thought  she  had  given  up  all  thoughts  of 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


233 


coming  to  Ireland,”  said  the  commissioner:  “I  heard 
Lord  Rosbrin  say  so  in  Dublin.” 

“ And  so  she  had,”  said  old  Crawley,  with  uncon- 
trollable irritation,  “ but  you  might  as  well  fix  tli’ 
ould  weathercock  on  the  top  of  Dunore  Court-house.” 
“ The  residence  of  the  Dunore  family,  even  for  a 
short  time,  will  do  great  good,”  said  the  Catholic 
gentleman. 

“ Great !”  said  young  Crawley,  filling  his  father’s 
glass,  and  giving  the  health  of  the  absent  candidate, 
Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm. 

“ I wonder,”  said  the  Catholic  gentleman,  “ since 
the  Fitzadelms  have  come  in  for  the  Dunore  property, 
that  they  haven’t  tried  to  repurchase  the  old  house 
and  grounds  of  Court  Fitzadelm.” 

“ Apropos , Mr.  Crawley,”  said  the  stranger,  in  a 
low  tone  of  voice.  “ It  is  time  that  I should  apolo- 
gize for  my  intrusion  on  your  hospitality,  by  account- 
ing for  it.  I am  desirous  to  become  a purchaser  of 
Court  Fitzadelm ; for  that  purpose  I came  to  Mount 
Crawley,  and  being  obliged  to  leave  Dunore  to-mor- 
row morning  on  urgent  business,  I availed  myself  of 
Miss  Crawley’s  polite  invitation,  in  order  to  obtain 
an  audience  from  you.  The  time,  I am  aware,  is  an 
awkward  one  for  business  : all  that  I can  now  expect 
to  learn  is,  what  may  be  my  chance,  and  on  what 
terms  ?” 

“ I believe,  sir,”  interrupted  young  Crawley,  l<  you 
stand  so  engaged  with  Mr.  Skerrett  of  Inchigeela, 
that  you  cannot  open  any  new  engagement.” 

“ Mr.  Skerrett !”  said  the  old  man,  rousing  himself, 
“ to  be  sure  I can’t.  And  may  I presume  to  ask,  sir, 


> & 

234  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 

is  it  to  take  back,  that  is,  to  purchase,  I mane,  Court 
Fitzadelm,  that  brought  you  into  this  country  ?” 

“ Not  exactly,  sir.  My  wish  of  taking  Court  Fitz- 
adelm is  merely  accidental.  I saw  it  advertised, 
liked  the  description,  visited  the  grounds  on  my  way 
hither,  and  liked  them  still  better.  I resolved  to 
purchase  if  I could,  and  waited  on  you  for  that  pur- 
pose.” 

Old  Crawley  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead, 
first  looked  at  his  son  and  then  at  the  stranger ; then 
he  added : 

“ And  you  mane  to  return  to  this  country,  sir  ?” 

“ My  hope  of  arranging  matters  with  you  will  be  a 
strong  inducement  to  my  doing  so.” 

“ Then,  sir,”  said  old  Crawley,  eagerly  catching  at 
his  word,  “ you  need  not  give  yourself  the  trouble. 
The  place  is  all  as  one  as  sowld  to  Mr.  Skerrett,  an 
ould  acquaintance,  and  a residenter  in  the  country ; 
and  of  course  I would  give  a neighbor  the  preference 
over  a stranger,  an  entire  stranger.” 

“ It  is  very  natural,  sir,”  said  the  Commodore.  “ Am 
I to  consider  this  answer  as  definitive  ?” 

“ Certainly,  sir,”  returned  Conway  Crawley.  “ The 
concerns  of  Court  Fitzadelm  are,  in  fact,  disposed  of.” 
The  stranger  paused  for  a moment,  then  took  a 
polite  leave  of  Mr.  Crawley,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


For  now  enforst,  a farre  unfitten  taske. 

to  change  mine  oaten  reeds, 

And  sing  of  knights’  and  ladies’  gentle  deeds, 

Whose  praises,  having  slept  in  silence  long, 

Me — all  too  meane,  the  sacred  muse  areeds 
To  blazon  far. 

. SPENSER 

The  intended  visit  of  the  Dunore  family  to  the 
ancient  and  long-uninhabited  castle  of  their  ancestors 
was  of  too  general  importance  to  the  district  and 
neighborhood  not  to  excite  sensation  and  awaken  in- 
terest. Mr.  Crawley  had  made  no  formal  announce- 
ment of  the  important  circumstance,  but  the  arrival 
of  the  mciitre  cVhotel  and  a French  cook  at  the  castle 
gave  sufficient  indication  of  the  event.  These  chefs 
de  menage,  were  daily  followed  by  squadrons  of  non- 
commissioned officers,  in  the  capacity  of  footmen, 
stable  grooms,  and  grooms  of  the  chamber,  with  light 
and  heavy  baggage,  and  all  the  artillery  of  luxury, 
comfort,  and  splendor,  which  follow  in  the  train  of 
the  great,  the  opulent,  and  the  sumptuous. 

The  Marchioness  of  Dunore  was  all  these,  in  its 
fullest  extent ; and  she  now  visited  the  domains  of 
her  son  (whom  she  represented)  with  a spirit  as  im- 
perially extravagant  as  that  which  accompanied  the 
fair  autocrat  of  the  North  in  her  journeys  to  her  an- 
cient city  of  Moscow : the  means  alone  fell  short,  in 


236 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  ratio  of  the  states  of  Dunore  to  the  empire  of  all 
the  Russias.  The  arrival  of  her  ladyship  was,  how- 
ever, to  the  full  of  as  much  consequence  to  the  inha- 
bitants of  the  barony  as  that  of  the  great  Catherine 
to  the  expecting  Muscovites.  The  higher  ranks 
looked  forward  to  festivals  at  the  castle,  and  balls  at 
the  court-house,  election  dinners,  and  canvassing  par- 
ties witho  t end.  The  lower  orders  were  equally  in- 
terested in  an  event  which  awakened  that  train  of 
idle  hopes  to  which  the  discontented  are  always  vic- 
tims. To  appeal  from  the  powerful  Crawleys  to  the 
powerful  masters  of  those  Crawleys  was  a favorite 
scheme  with  many,  and  in  some  nurtured  and  encou- 
raged, by  one  who  held  a peculiar  influence  over  all. 
This  important  agent  was  Terence  Oge  O’Leary. 

The  lower  Irish  entertain  a respect,  bordering  on 
infatuation,  for  what  they  call  learning;  and  much 
of  this  respect  centres  in  their  rustic  schoolmasters, 
the  depositories  of  their  national  and  traditionary 
lore.  The  influence  of  this  order  of  men  was  deemed 
so  formidable  during  the  most  unhappy  period  of  the 
Irish  rebellion,  that  they  became  objects  of  peculiar 
suspicion,  not  to  the  government,  but  to  the  petty 
magistrates,  to  whom  the  government  had  given 
such  frightful  and  unqualified  power,  that  ignorance, 
cruelty  and  personal  vindictiveness  were  armed  all 
over  the  kingdom  and  corporal  punishments  were 
inflicted  with  a barbarity  which  exceeded  the  horrors 
of  the  rack  and  the  wheel. 

O’Leary,  on  whom  the  fever  of  insanity  was  at  this 
period  still  preying,  had  thrown  out  many  incoherent 
aspersions  against  the  Crawleys,  having  the  death  of 
the  young  Lord  Fitzadelm  for  their  chief  point  of 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


237 


reference ; and  a note  in  Latin  and  Irish,  which  Mr. 
Crawley  could  not  read,  found  in  his  pocket,  served 
as  a sufficient  pretext  for  vengeance  at  a time  when 
a magistrate  asserted  to  the  Irish  House  of  Commons 
“that  it  was  necessary  to  whip  many  persons,  of 
whose  guilt  he  had  secret  information  from  persons 
whose  names  he  could  not  publicly  disclose.”  Under 
such  a system,  O'Leary  had  been  sentenced  to  the 
lash.  To  his  plea  of  innocence  Mr.  Crawley  replied, 
“What,  you  rebelly  rascal!  dare  you  speak  after 
sentence  ?”* 

The  sentence  was  put  in  force ; it  prolonged  and 
increased  his  mental  irritation,  but  it  elevated  him 
to  the  honors  of  martyrdom  in  the  estimation  of 
his  sympathizing  compatriots.  The  hopes,  therefore, 
which  the  return  of  the  Dunore  family  awakened 
among  their  tenantry  and  dependants  were  confirmed 
by  the  vague,  mysterious  declaration  of  the  oracular 
O Leary,  who  continued  to  repeat  everywhere  that 
“the  fall  of  the  Crawleys  wasn’t  far  off,  that  the 
reign  of  the  land-pirates  was  nearly  over,  and  that 
the  red  arm  of  the  Fitzadelms  would  stretch  forth 
once  more  over  the  land,  or  perhaps  join  that  of  the 
Mac ar'chies  More,  as  the  Geraldines  and  Butlers  had 
once  done”  (9).  O’Leary,  meantime,  was  himself  con- 
vinced that  his  guest  was  no  other  than  Lord  Adelm 
Fitzadelm,  whose  incognito  arrival  had  preceded  his 
mother’s  by  a few  days,  and  whose  resemblance  to 
his  unfortunate  cousin  had  already  awakened  his 
affections  and  devotional  interest.  This  “ noble 
espiall”  (as  he  termed  his  guest)  upon  the  tricks  and 
puppet-show  state  of  the  Crawleys,  which  he  likened 
* Facts. 


238 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


to  King  Solomon’s  court  in  the  “fringes”  (10),  had 
slept  but  one  night  at  the  friary,  and  had  left  Dunore 
the  next  morning  for  Cork,  with  the  promise  of  re- 
turning in  a few  days.  He  took  with  him  a missive 
from  the  pedagogue  of  the  precept ory  to  Friar 
O’Sullivan;  “touching,  plaze  your  lordship,  that  is, 
honor  I mane,”  said  O’Leary,  “ the  Ogygia  of  the 
great  O’Flaherty,  and  the  Histoire  cVIrlande , by  Abbe 
MacGeoghegan,  which  Fra  Denis  will  dispatch  forth- 
with to  me  by  the  Dunore  carrier.” 

“ I will  bring  them  back  myself  to  you,  O’Leary,” 
said  the  Commodore,  as  he  mounted  his  Kerry 
steed. 

“ That’s  too  great  honor  entirely,  my  lord ; and  re- 
minds me  of  the  goodness  of  him  whom  you  liken, 
who  carried  Ware’s  Antiquities,  and  Lynch’s  Cam- 
brensis  Eversus,  from  Dingle  town  to  St.  Crohan’s 
for  me,  on  one  shoulder,  and  a string  of  curlews,  and 
his  little  ould  gun,  the  jewel  of  the  world ! on  the 
other;  for  they  were  of  great  value  to  me  then — 
that’s  the  curlews,  and  helped  to  pay  the  rint;  the 
ould  saying  being  true, 

‘ A curlew,  be  she  white  or  black, 

Carries  twelve-pence  on  her  back.’  ” 

The  stranger  departed.  O’Leary’s  doubts  as  to 
the  purport  of  this  journey,  wThich  were,  like  all  his 
thoughts,  confused  and  wuld,  became  suddenly 
cleared  up  by  the  report  of  the  expected  arrival  of 
Lady  Dunore;  for  it  was  natural  that  Lord  Adelm 
should  go  to  Cork  to  meet  his  mother,  and  to  return 
with  her  to  Dunore,  and  then  discomfit  the  Crawley 
faction  whom  he  had  seen  “in  all  their  glory.”  Of 
the  result  of  the  Commodore’s  visit  to  Mount  Craw- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


289 


ley,  as  of  its  pretext,  O’Leary  remained  ignorant; 
for  no  communication  had  been  made  to  him;  and 
the  respectful  deference  of  the  Fitzadelm  fosterer 
checked  the  suggestions  of  a vague  but  ardent 
curiosity. 

But  if  the  population  of  the  barony  of  Dunore 
looked  forward  with  various  views  of  interest  to  the 
arrival  of  the  chiefs  of  the  territory,  the  Crawley s, 
who  had  so  long  and  powerfully  governed  it  in  their 
absence,  felt  little  pleasure  from  the  circumstance. 
They  “ wanted  no  change;”  and  the  irritation  of  old 
Crawley’s  spirit  could  scarcely  subdue  itself,  from  the 
moment  he  had  received  Lady  Dunore’s  letter,  or 
suffer  him  to  listen  to  the  prudent  suggestions  of  his 
youngest  son, 

“ His  bosom  counsellor,  and  better  self.” 

It  was  in  vain  that  Conway  enforced  the  necessity 
of  “ representation,”  of  fitting  his  conduct  to  “ exist- 
ing circumstances,”  and  meeting  exigencies  with  “ ap- 
plicable expediency.”  To  all  this  primer  jargon  of 
the  young  diplomatic  apprentice,  old  Crawley  only 
replied  with  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head,  and  the 
observation  of— “ And  the  Glannacrime  business  going 
on  so  illigant;  and  that  rebelly  thief,  O’Leary,  drinking 
the  downfall  of  the  Crawleys  at  the  Dunore  Arms,  as 
Jemmy  Bryan  tells  me,  who  was  on  the  look  out;  and 
that  stranger  whom  Miss  Crawley  flopped  down  on 
us  at  dinner  the  other  day,  lodging  for  a night  at  the 
friary,  and  then  exeunt  manent , before  Jemmy  could 
make  out  a tittle  about  him.  But  what  signifies  talk- 
ing now ; £ on  time’s  uncertain  date  eternal  hours  de- 
pend,’ as  the  dial-plate  on  the  new  clock  says ; and 
so  send  to  Cork  for  colored  lamps  to  light  up  Mount 


240 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Crawley ; for  the  town  of  Bunore  is  going  to  illumi- 
nate, and  wouldn’t  be  behindhand  with  it.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  sir,”  replied  his  son,  “ we  should 
be  beforehand,  and  light  up  New-Town  Mount  Craw- 
ley, and  order  your  new  corps  under  arms  imme- 
diately.” 

“ And  a few- de-joy,'7  cried  old  Crawley,  cheering 
up ; for  his  new  corps  was  the  master-passion  of  his 
present  existence  \ and  his  son  well  knew  the  chord 
by  which  his  relaxed  spirits  could  be  restored  to  their 
habitual  tension. 

Miss  Crawley,  who  was  not  very  deep  in  the  fa- 
mily politics,  was  the  only  member  of  the  house  of 
Crawley  to  whom  the  arrival  of  the  noble  Marchio- 
ness and  her  fashionable  party  gave  any  pleasure. 
Lady  Bunore  had  said,  in  that  fatal  letter  which  an- 
nounced her  intentions,  that  she  meant  “ to  instal  the 
always  obliging  Miss  Crawley  (for  whose  prettily 
painted  skreens  she  returned  a thousand  thanks)  as 
dame  du  palais , or  mistress  of  the  ceremonies  at 
Bunore  Castle,  where  she  would  herself  be  necessarily 
the  greatest  stranger.” 

From  this  distinguished  promotion,  Miss  Crawley 
saw  a train  of  delightful  consequences,  all  big  with 
influence,  benefit,  and  importance.  She  would  pre- 
side over  the  ingress  and  egress  of  the  castle,  exclude 
or  admit  whom  she  pleased,  blacken  and  whiten,  ac- 
cording to  her  own  personal  feelings,  towards  the  fa- 
vorers or  thwarters  of  her  vanity  and  pretension. 
She  would  have  the  Bunore  patronage  and  the  Bunore 
purse  for  her  “ subscription,  cheap,  charitable  reposi- 
tory in  Bublin,”  where  piety  and  patchwork  were  sold 
together  for  her  evangelical  school  at  New-Town 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


241 


Mount  Crawley  (standing  equally  opposed  to  the 
Protestant  and  Catholic  schools  at  Dunore),  and  for 
her  ‘ society  for  disseminating  cheap  tracts;  ’ got  up 
for  the  especial  diffusion  of  intolerance,  and  for  sow- 
ing division  among  the  families  of  the  credulous  and 
unenlightened : but,  most  of  all,  and  best  of  all,  she 
would  have  the  opportunity  of  converting,  saving, 
and  governing  the  gay,  dissipated,  and  worldly,  but 
most  noble  Emily  Augusta,  Marchioness  of  Dunore ; 
of  accompanying  her  back  to  London,  and  presiding 
over  religious  conversaziones  at  Dunore  House — her- 
self the  star  of  attraction  to  parliamentary  saints  and 
borough-mongering  devotees. 

The  evening  destined  for  the  arrival  of  Lady  Dunore 
at  last  approached,  not  “ like  a pilgrim  clad  in  sober 
grey,”  but  like  a flaunting  dame,  “in  flame-colored 
taffetas.”  It  was  one  of  those  rich,  red,  autumnal 
evenings  which,  in  Ireland,  make  the  sole,  the  short 
indemnification  for  eleven  months  of  rain  and  vapor. 
For  miles  along  the  road  which  led  to  the  town  of 
Dunore,  the  expectation  of  her  cavalcade  crowded 
the  acclivities  with  a long- waiting  populace ; and  when 
her  barouche,  followed  by  two  travelling  carriages 
and  out-riders,  appeared  turning  down  Mr.  Crawley’s 
new-made  mail-coach  road,  the  old  war-cry  of  the 
Fitzadelm  family  rendered  the  air  vocal,  and  uGal- 
ruaclgh-aboo ” (shouted  from  a thousand  voices)  wras 
followed  by  the  descent  of  a multitude,  who,  with 
countenances  and  gestures  as  wild  as  their  cry,  swept 
down  the  sides  of  the  hills,  threw  up  their  hats  and 
shillelaghs  in  the  air,  surrounded  the  carriage,  and  at- 
tempted to  unharness  the  horses,  as  a token  of  devo- 


242 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


tion  and  willing  hereditary  servitude  to  the  long-ab- 
sent Fitzadelm  family. 

Lady  Dunore  (who  had  never  before  visited  Ire- 
land), with  two  gentlemen  and  one  lady,  occupied 
the  barouche.  Rather  agitated  than  frightened,  she 
gave  way  to  a strong  hysterical  affection.  Her  jour- 
ney to  Dunore,  like  her  journey  through  life,  had 
been  subject  to  sudden  alternations  of  "excitement 
and  lassitude,  of  emotions  as  opposite  as  their  causes 
were  inadequate.  She  had  wept  and  laughed  in  a 
successive  series  since  she  had  left  Dublin,  alternately 
amused  and  frightened  as  the  sun  shone  or  the  clouds 
lowered : she  now  wept  and  laughed  together ; and 
would  have  screamed  had  there  been  any  chance  of 
her  screams  becoming  audible,  but  that  was  impossi- 
ble. The  cry  of  the  “ Irishry  Mere”  and  the  wran- 
gling of  the  “ English  by  blood”  (for  Lady  Dunore’s 
sturdy  English  coachmen  and  out-riders  protested 
against  the  carriage  being  drawn  with  suggans *), 
gave  her  ladyship  no  chance  for  a successful  exhibition 
of  powerful  emotion.  She  therefore  concealed  her 
face  on  the  shoulder  of  Lady  Georgiana  Vivian,  the 
lady  who  sat  next  her,  and  who,  infinitely  more  in- 
timidated, expressed  her  fears  only  by  a death-like 
paleness  and  a quickened  respiration. 

Meantime,  one  of  the  two  gentlemen,  who  occupied 
the  back  seat  in  the  barouche,  Lord  Frederick  Ever- 
sham,  being  not  particularly  affected  by  the  alarms 
of  either  lady,  wdiich  he  saw  were  perfectly  without 
cause,  endeavored  to  dispel  them  by  diverting  atten- 
tion, and  indulging  his  own  peculiar  humor.  Stand- 
ing upright  in  the  barouche,  he  waved  his  hat,  joined 

* Straw  ropes. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


243 


the  Irish  cry,  and  addressed  the  multitude  with  the 
same  air  of  mingled  drollery  and  affectation  he  was 
wont  to  assume  in  a circle  at  Almacks. 

“ I believe,”  he  said,  “ I have  the  honor  of  address- 
ing the  respectable  population  of  Dunore.” 

An  ill-favored,  but  intelligent-looking  man,  who 
was  walking  with  his  hand  on  the  carriage- do  or,  and 
who  was  the  identical  travelling  companion  of  the 
pedlar  at  Lis-na-sleugh,  replied — 

“ We’re  the  Dunore  boys,  plaze  your  honor,  up  the 
mountains,  come  down  to  welcome  home  the  Mar- 
chioness.” 

“ Then,  if  you  please,  I will  consider  you  as  the 
organ  of  that  august  body,  and  beg  to  know  the 
name  of  so  enlightened  a representative,”  replied 
Lord  Frederick. 

“ Is  it  what  name  I have  upon  me,  your  honor  ? 
I’m  called  Padreen  Gar,  for  want  of  a better,  sir.  Is 
yourself  the  young  Lord,  plaze  your  honor*  the  Mar- 
quis’s brother,  sir  ?” 

“ I am  a young  lord,  my  friend,  and  a marquis’s 
brother;  but  not  Lord  Fitzadelm,  if  you  mean  that.” 

“ It’s  what  I mane,  shure  enough,  long  life  to  your 
lordship’s  honor.  And  is  the  Marchioness  in  it,  sir, 
if  you  plaze  ?” 

Lord  Frederick  gently  drew  forward  Lady  Dunore, 
who  from  fits  of  crying  was  now  convulsed  with  fits 
of  laughter. 

“ This,  gentlemen,”  he  said,  “ is  your  liege  chief- 
tainess,  the  Marchioness  of  Dunore,  the  mother  of 
your  absent  chief ; and  this  fair  lady”  (drawing  for- 
ward in  her  turn  the  still  intimidated  Lady  Georgi- 
ana)  “ is  a noble  Saxon  dame,  come  among  you  to 


244 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


encourage  your  native  manufactures.  See,  gentle- 
men, she  wears  an  Irish  tahinet  pelisse  ! que  voulez 
vous  ? Here,  too,  is  the  celebrated  Mr.  Pottinger, 
the  Baithassar  Castiglione,  or  complete  courtier  of 
the  Dublin  Court,  alias,  the  Castle.  He  could  make 
you  a bow  would  astonish  you,  gentlemen,  if  he  had 
but  room.  The  delicate  task  now  remains  of  speak- 
ing of  myself.  I am — I am  very  sorry  for  it — a young 
English  lord  of  the  pale,  or,  perhaps,  more  properly 
speaking,  and  as  you  must  observe,  a pale  young 
English  lord.  I would  have  been  Irish,  gentlemen, 
if  I had  been  consulted ; but,  c'est  une  affaire  arrange , 
and  there’s  no  more  to  be  said  on  the  subject.  If  you 
have  any  interest  in  a name,  not  purely  Milesian,  mine 
is  Eversham,  and  I have  the  honor  to  be  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Irish  Lord  Lieutenant,  who  shortly  means 
to  visit  this  oppressed  barony,  to  redress  all  your 
grievances,  grant  all  your  petitions,  banish  proctors, 
suppress  tithes,  to  permit  every  man  to  distil  his  own 
'poteen,  and  every  woman  to  drink  it; — -that  is,  if  she 
pleases : for  liberty,  gentlemen,  liberty  is  to  be  the 
order  of  the  day ; so,  Erin  go  brack  ! Ireland  forever !” 

“ Erin  go  brack  /”  and  “Ireland  for  ever  !”  now  rent 
the  air,  with  a thousand  “ long  lives”  and  “ successes” 
to  his  lordship’s  honor,  and  the  Marchioness  of  Du- 
nore.  For  though  not  one  word  of  Lord  Frederick’s 
mock  address  had  been  understood,  even  by  those 
who  could  speak  English  (and  they  were  the  minority), 
yet  the  exquisite  good  humor  and  gaiety  of  the  speaker 
had  their  due  effect  upon  spirits  alive  to  every  im- 
pression of  kindness  and  pleasantry. 

The  joyousness,  however,  that  beamed  in  every  wild 
countenance,  and  betrayed  itself  in  every  forcible  ges- 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


245 


ture,  was  soon  dispelled;  for  the  sound  of  a drum  and 
fife  was  heard  at  a distance,  and  in  a few  minutes  Mr. 
Crawley,  accompanied  by  his  two  sons  (the  two  elder 
and  himself  in  full  uniform),  and  riding  at  the  head  of 
the  Dunore  yeomanry  cavalry,  approached  the  carriage 
at  a gallop,  scattering  the  crowd  on  every  side.  They 
still,  however,  continued  their  route  along  the  ridge 
of  the  hills,  parallel  to  the  cavalcade,  where  they  rolled 
along  like  a mass  of  dark  vapor,  borne  by  the  evening 
breeze. 

“ By  Confucius,”  exclaimed  Lord  Frederick,  as  the 
Crawleys  and  their  troop  approached,  “ here  is  the 
whole  armed  militia  of  the  Celestial  Empire,  led  on 
by  the  chief  mandarin  of  the  province,  issuing  forth 
to  meet  us  on  our  imperial  progress,  with  gongs  beat- 
ing, and  colors  flying.  This  is  too  much ! dest  a 
mourir  de  rire .” 

“It  is  altogether  too  delightful,  too  odd,”  said  Lady 
Dunore,  in  an  ecstacy,  who  a few  minutes  before,  with 
sobs  of  terror,  had  pronounced  it  “ too  frightful,  too 
barbarous.”  “ Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Crawley,  how  do 
you  do  ? This  is  so  very  kind  of  you,  so  very  atten- 
tive !”  She  gave  him  her  hand,  which  he  took  off  his 
hat  to  kiss,  while  she  turned  aside  her  head,  not  to 
conceal  her  laugh,  but  to  indulge  it.  She  then  recog- 
nized Mr.  Conway  Townsend  Crawley,  begged  to  be 
presented  to  his  brothers,  inquired  with  the  utmost 
(appearance  of  affection  for  Miss  Crawley,  spoke  with 
vehemence  of  the  warm  feelings  of  the  kind-hearted 
|poor  Irish,  introduced  the  Crawleys  to  her  travelling 
(companions,  and  meeting  Lord  Frederick’s  eye,  who 
jwas  alternately  gazing  on  Mr.  Crawley  and  his  sons 
llthrough  his  glass,  was  again  seized  with  a violent  fit 


248 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  laughter,  as  suddenly  checked  by  a speech  from 
Mr.  Crawley  to  some  of  the  peasantry,  who  still  lin- 
gered round  the  carriages. 

“ I suppose,  my  lads,”  he  observed,  by  no  means 
pleased  with  her  ladyship’s  commendations  of  the 
warm-hearted  poor  Irish — “ I suppose  there  is  not 
one  of  yez  but  knows  that  your  district  is  proclaimed, 
and  that  not  a man  Jack  among  you  but  is  liable  to 
be  shot  dead  if  he’s  found  out  of  his  cabin  at  nine 
o’clock  ?” 

“ The  district  proclaimed  !”  repeated  Lady  Dunore, 
in  a voice  of  surprise  and  emotion. 

“Shot  for  being  out  of  their  cabins  at  nine  o’clock!” 
re-echoed  Lord  Frederick,  with  a transient  gravity. 

“ Oh,  yes,  my  lord,  one  wouldn’t  sleep  alive  in  our 
beds  only  for  it.  Not  one  among  them  about  the 
carriage  there,”  he  added,  in  a low  confidential  tone, 
“ but  is  a murderer  twenty  times  over  and  over.” 
Lady  Dunore  sunk  back  in  the  carriage,  and  in  a 
voice  half  inarticulate,  said  : 

“ I wish,  sweet  love,  we  were  safe  back  in  England.” 
“ I wish  we  were,”  replied  Lady  Georgiana,  return- 
ing the  pressure  of  her  friend’s  hand ; while  Lord 
Frederick,  who  had  been  the  chief  cause  of  the  two 
ladies  visiting  Ireland,  and  who  felt  himself  thus  indi- 
rectly reproached,  endeavored  to  turn  the  object  of 
their  fears  into  ridicule ; and  pointing  to  Mount  Craw- 
ley, which  now  blazed  with  lights  on  the  top  of  its 
high  dark  hill,  he  exclaimed  : 

“ By  all  that’s  luminous,  the  feast  of  lanterns  ! the 
interior  of  the  celestial  empire  in  a blaze !” 

“ I fancy,  Lord  Frederick,  ’tis  an  illuminated  air- 
balloon,”  said  Mr.  Pottinger.  “We  sent  up  one 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


247 


from  the  Castle-yard  on  the  occasion  of  the  jubilee. 
The  lord  lieutenant  walked  that  night  about  the 
town,  accompanied  only  by  one  aid-de-camp  and  one 
orderly.  I had  the  honor  of  driving  through  the 
streets  in  one  of  the  viceregal  carriages,  with  the 
dear  little  viceregal  children.” 

“ Memorable  events,  my  Potty !”  returned  Lord 
Frederick,  solemnly. 

“ But,  Mr.  Crawley,  pray  explain  to  us  the  device 
of  that  very  brilliant  object  on  the  top  of  yonder 
hill ; is  it  a temporary  edifice  ?” 

“ No,  my  lord,  it  is  nat ; it  is  perennial,  for  it’s  my 
own  sate  of  Mount  Crawley,  and  that  part  which  is 
lighted  up  with  colored  lamps  and  transparencies  in 
honor  of  her  ladyship’s  arrival  is  my  Grecian  vesti- 
bule or  portico,  supported  by  cantharides.  It’s  quite 
a gem,  a perfect  bougie,  in  respect  of  the  architec- 
ture, I’m  tould.” 

A general  burst  of  half-smothered  laughter 
followed  this  speech,  but  Mr.  Crawley,  wholly 
occupied  with  his  own  description  and  importance, 
continued : 

“ That  painting  in  the  front  is  done  by  Miss  Craw- 
ley, and  is  an  aregorical  device  of  Lady  Dunore,  in 
the  character  of  the  horn  of  plenty,  throwing  down 
pace  and  prosperity  on  her  people.  To  the  left  is 
the  great  Wellington,  bating  the  world  before  him, 
with  a retrospective  view  of  Nelson’s  pillar;  and,  on 
the  right,  the  Regent’s  plume,  and  the  British  lion 
there,  like  a little  dog,  trampling  down  upon  the 
Boney-part.” 

“ Crawley,  Crawley,  thou  art  mine, 

Crawley,  Crawley,  I am  thine,” 


248 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


murmured  Lord  Frederick,  in  a voice  of  unrepressed 
ecstacy.  “ To  live  without  thee  is  impossible ! to 
live  with  thee  is  death !”  and  he  wiped  the  tears 
from  his  eyes ; while  Lady  Dunore,  no  longer  taking 
pains  to  conceal  her  risibility,  said,  in  a sobbing 
voice : 

“ But  my  dear  Mr.  Crawley,  if  you  really  live  on 
the  top  of  that  mountain,  how  am  I ever  to  visit 
you?  You  might  as  well  expect  me  to  get  my 
horses  up  Mount  St.  Gothard,  or  Sierra  Leone.” 

“ Why,  Lady  Dunore,  though  Mount  Crawley 
looks  mighty  high,  seen  here  from  the  bottom,  yet 
when  you  are  close  up  to  it,  ’tis  nothing  at  all  of  a 
hill;  besides  my  new  approach  from  Dunore  Town, 
if  anything,  has  an  incline  downwards.” 

Lady  Dunore,  whose  hysterical  affection  had  re- 
cently taken  a tone  of  risibility  wholly  beyond  her 
own  control,  now  absolutely  screamed  with  laugh- 
ter ; while  the  civil  Mr.  Pottinger,  full  of  the  “ re- 
spectability” of  the  Crawley  family,  and  of  the  excel- 
lence of  Mr.  Crawley’s  dinners,  observed  in  a low 
voice : 

“ I assure  your  ladyship,  for  all  his  lapsus  lingua , 
Mr.  Crawley,  of  Merrion  square,  is  a most  worthy 
gentleman,  and  a peculiarly  loyal  man.  He  is  asked 
to  the  private  dinners  at  the  castle  very  frequently, 
and  is  a prime  favorite  with  the  secretary.” 

“ You  don’t  really  pretend,  Mr.  Pottinger,”  said 
Lady  Dunore,  half  haughtily,  half  laughing,  “ to  tell 
me  who  or  what  Mr.  Crawley  is  ? He  happens  to 
have  been  the  man-of -business  person  of  my  son’s 
family  these  forty  years ; he  is  an  excellent  creature, 
to  whom  we  are  much  indebted ; only,”  she  added, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


249 


laughing  violently,  and  speaking  with  difficulty,  “ I 
had  half  forgotten  his  slip-slop,  and  never  having 
seen  him  sur  son  terrein , I find  him  too  delicious, 
and  I do  not  think  I shall  be  able  to  live  without 
him  a day.” 

“ A day!”  exclaimed  Lord  Frederick,  “ an  hour,  a 
minute.  Life  I see  will  now  be  insupportable,  parted 
from  Ching-Foo  Crawley  of  the  yellow  button  ! He 
is  mine  henceforth,  par  tons  les  dieux .” 

During  this  short  dialogue,  young  Crawley  was 
urging  his  father  to  withdraw  from  the  side  of  Lady 
Dunore’s  carriage,  and  permit  the  party  to  proceed 
at  a more  rapid  rate,  while  he  took  his  place  him 
self,  and  enteied  into  conversation  with  the  marchio- 
ness. He  had  seen  with  the  sensitive  quickness  of 
self-love,  always  on  the  watch  to  sustain  its  own  con- 
sequence, that  the  blunders  and  vulgarity  of  his  fa- 
ther, while  they  were  admirably  adapted  to  amuse 
the  idleness,  and  feed  that  love  of  the  ludicrous,  in- 
cidental to  the  class  with  which  he  was  now  asso- 
ciated, were  likewise  throwing,  by  reflection,  a shade 
of  ridicule  upon  the  whole  family ; and,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  removing  him,  he  endeavored  to  efface  the 
impression  of  old  Crawley’s  folly  by  his  own  intel- 
lectual superiority,  and  his  knowledge  of  persons, 
whose  acquaintance  in  London  were  calculated  to 
increase  his  own  consequence.  He  inquired  for  mi- 
nisters, and  men  in  high  office,  whom  he  had  met  at 
Dunore  House,  asking  for  them  by  their  names  and 
omitting  their  titles.  He  told  Mr.  Pottinger  that  he 
had  been  made  devilish  ill  by  their  friend  the  Irish 
secretary’s  bad  claret,  quoted  some  lines  to  the 
rising  moon,  compared  the  present  state  of  the 


250 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


southern  counties  to  a slumbering  volcano,  and  then 
turned  the  conversation  to  the  Glannacrime  election, 
to  speak  of  the  three  hundred  freeholders  of  his  fa- 
ther and  his  uncle  the  commissioner  (who  had  lately 
purchased  an  estate  in  the  county),  all  registered  in 
time,  for  the  benefit  of  Lord  Adelm,  whose  absence 
as  yet  had  produced  no  ill  effect. 

“ There  was  no  doubt,”  he  added,  “ that  his  own 
and  his  father’s  strenuous  exertions,  and  the  influence 
which  his  family’s  personal  and  estated  interest  .car- 
ried, would  ensure  success.  The  hour  of  attack  was 
approaching,  and  he  wTas  impatient  for  its  arrival,  for 
it  would  not  fail  to  be  the  hour  of  triumph.” 

All  this  succeeded  with  Lady  Dunore ; it  did  not 
wholly  fail  with  her  friend  Lady  Georgiana ; it  pro- 
duced a whispered  remark  from  Mr.  Pottinger,  that 
young  Crawley  was  a most  talented  fellow,  and  a par- 
ticular friend  of  the  secretary. 

On  the  mind  of  Lord  Frederick  it  impressed  the 
conviction  that  he  was  vulgar  and  presuming ; for 
vulgarity  and  presumption  were  qualities  readily  dis- 
cernible by  the  man  of  fashion  and  high  birth,  even 
though  pedantry  and  affectation  might  escape  him. 

The  splendid  cavalcade  at  last  arrived  before  the 
turretted  gates  of  the  castle  of  Dunore ; and  as  the 
carriages  rolled  over  the  pavement  of  the  gloomy 
court,  and  the  tenants  of  the  old  rookery  in  the  rear 
of  the  castle  screamed  their  disapprobation  of  the 
unusual  intrusion,  Lady  Dunore’s  susceptible  spirits 
again  sunk  from  their  high- wound  pitch. 

“ God  send  us  safe  out  of  this  wild  country,”  said 
her  ladyship,  with  a deep  sigh. 

“ Amen,”  said  young  Crawley,  most  emphatically. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


251 


“ Amen,”  repeated  Lord  Frederick,  most  theatri- 
cally, adding — 

“ The  raven  himself  is  hoarse, 

That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.” 

“ Good  heavens,”  exclaimed  Lady  Dunore,  “ how 
can  yon,  Lord  Frederick ! you,  too,  who  were  in  part 
the  cause  of  bringing  me  here,  with  your  ridiculous 
account  of  the  1 celestial  empire,’  and  your  ‘ chop- 
mandarins,’  that  made  me  die  with  laughter  in  Lon- 
don, but  are  a monstrous  dull  set  out  here ! ’ 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the  last  gate;  and  the 
lights  flashed  full  upon  “ God’s  providence  is  my  in- 
heritance.” Lord  Frederick  read  aloud  the  inscrip- 
tion with  solemn  emphasis ; the  ladies  alighted,  and 
Miss  Crawley  appeared  in  the  centre  of  the  dark  oak 
hall,  to  welcome  them  to  the  castle,  and  to  avail  her- 
self at  once  of  the  immunity  which  had  elevated  her 
to  the  enviable  station  of  Dame  clu  Pa  ais. 

Lady  Dunore,  who  had  seen  her  twice  in  London, 
and  had  received  a hundred  pretty  notes  and  paper 
presents  from  her,  was,  notwithstanding  this  basis  of 
intimacy,  on  the  point  of  addressing  her  as  the  house- 
keeper, when  Conway  Crawley,  anticipating,  perhaps, 
the  probable  mistake,  stepped  up  to  obviate  it,  by 
presenting  his  aunt  in  form,  as  one  “ equally  willing 
and  capable  of  being  useful  to  her  ladyship,  in  a place 
where  all  must  be  to  her  new  and  strange.”  The 
sliding,  smiling,  devoted,  and  reverential  manner  of 1 
Miss  Crawley,  all  homage,  zeal,  and  humility,  decided 
at  once  a strong  prepossession  in  her  favor;  and 
Lady  Dunore,  familiarly  taking  her  arm,  as  the  party 


252' 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


proceeded  to  the  saloon,  left  the  rest  to  follow  as 
they  might,  and  observed : 

“ My  dear  Miss  Crawley,  I must  throw  myself  en- 
tirely on  your  kindness.  I am  afraid  I shall  be  mon- 
strous unpopular  here ; I do  not  at  all  know  what  is 
to  be  done  with  your  Irish  folk ; you  understand  I am 
expiring  to  be  popular,  and  get  Fitzadelm  his  elec- 
tion ; I suppose  there  is  nothing,  absolutely  nothing, 
in  this  old  castle.  Poor  Dunore,  I believe,  only  sent 
over  a small  table  service  and  batter ie  de  cuisine ; but 
you  can  borrow  plate  anywhere,  can’t  you,  my  dear 
Miss  Crawley,  for  our  election  dinners  ? And  then 
we  must  have  cups  and  saucers,  and  cut  glass  and 
things  for  the  country  ladies.  Somebody  told  me 
they  are  very  particular  in  Ireland  about  that  sort  of 
machines.  I am  the  plainest  person  in  the  world  my- 
self. I don’t  care  in  the  least  if  I eat  off  yellow  delf: 
I can  put  up  with  anything,  only  let  me  have  plenty 
of  lamps  and  loungers.  But,  oh ! the  misery  of  these 
chairs,  where  one  must  sit  bolt  upright ! This  is  all 
poor  Dunore’s  doing,  when  he  would  have  everything 
Gothic.  Georgy,  love,  we  shall  get  the  lumbago.  By- 
the-bye,  my  dear  Miss  Crawley,  have  you  any  doctors, 
or  things  of  that  kind  here  ? I take  it  for  granted, 
you  know,  that  we  must  put  up  with  every  sort  of 
misery  and  inconvenience ; but  I am  myself  equal  to 
anything.  Heavens!  here’s  an  old  French  parquet, 
and  no  carpet.  Good  God  ! is  it  possible  to  imagine 
such  a thing  in  the  nineteenth  century!  My  dear 
Miss  Crawley,  do  make  me  out  something  to  put  un- 
der my  feet.  I don’t  care  the  very  least  in  the  world 
what  it  is ; a bit  of  Turkey  carpet,  or  a Merino  wool 
rug,  or  a bear-skin,  or  anything  that  is  soft  and  warm 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


253 


yon  know.  Heneage,  will  you  just  inquire  for  a 
couvrepied , that  is  lying  loose  somewhere  in  the  car- 
riage ; or  one  of  my  doe-skin  travelling  blankets ; 
anything,  no  matter  what.  You  know  I don’t  care 
j in  the  least,  provided  I have  something  under  my 
< feet.” 

* 

Mr.  Heneage  arose  to  obey,  but  the  approach  of 
dinner,  ordered  to  be  ready  at  nine  o’clock,  obliged 
' the  party  to  retire,  and  make  some  change  in  their 
dress  before  they  sat  down  to  table.  Meantime  the 
I Crawleys,  though  pressed  to  stay,  took  their  leave. 
When  Miss  Crawley’s  carriage  was  announced,  Lady 
Dunore  observed : 

“ Well,  I hope  you  will  muster  as  strong  about  me 
as  possible,  remember  you  will  dine  here  to-morrow 
— -and  Miss  Crawley,  you  will  come  over  early  in  the 
morning.  You  know  I am  altogether  in  terra  in - 
i cognita .” 

Miss  Crawley  readily  complied  with  this  summons, 
hinting,  however,  that  she  was  just  then  occupied 
with  a family  party  who  would  remain  a day  or  two 
at  Mount  Crawley,  and  thus  getting  her  two  younger 
brothers’  families  included  in  the  dinner  invitation  al- 
ready given. 

The  cognizance  and  device  assigned  to  Lady  Dun- 
ore,  by  the  fanciful  gallantry  of  Lord  Frederick,  was 
a branch  of  the  orange  tree  in  fruit  and  flower,  with 
the  motto — “ Le  fruit  ne  fait  pas  tomber  la  fleur 
and  her  fine  person,  even  at  forty-five,  was  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  emblem.  Time  indeed  had  faded  some 
tints,  and  effaced  some  lineaments  of  loveliness,  which 
no  care,  no  art  could  rescue  from  his  touch ; yet  still 
she  had  preserved  her  claims  to  personal  admiration, 


254 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


which  were  not  suffered  to  lie  idle  for  want  of  being 
asserted. 

But  if  Lady  Dunore’s  personal  charms  had  slightly 
suffered  from  the  effects  of  years,  her  character  had 
submitted  so  little  to  their  influence,  that  she  pre- 
served to  senility  all  the  incoherence  and  unregulated 
feeling  which  had  distinguished  her  youth*  and  she 
was  still  as  fresh  in  folly  and  inexperience  as  when, 
at  the  age  of  eighteen,  she  had  eloped  from  a window 
by  a ladder  of  ropes,  though  the  hall-door  was  free 
of  egress,  to  marry  the  Honorable  Gerald  Fitzadelm, 
the  insolvent  and  younger  brother  of  a ruined  Irish 
peer. 

Brought  up  in  boundless  indulgence,  free  as  the 
winds,  which  she  resembled  in  violence  and  instabil- 
ity, compliance  had  become  to  her  satiety,  and  oppo- 
sition enjoyment.  The  besoin  cle  sent.ir  was  her  dis- 
ease; and  excitement,  whether  a pleasure  or  pain, 
was  necessary  to 'her  existence.  Habit  and  time  in- 
creased the  demand  for  a variable  series  of  sensa- 
tions ; and  her  marriage  with  the  bankrupt,  younger 
brother  of  an  Irish  peer,  in  wanton  opposition  to  her 
father  s will,  was  the  brief  abstract  of  her  subsequent 
life. 

Love  had  no  share  in  the  union  of  Lord  Fitzadelm 
with  the  self-willed  heiress  of  the  house  of  L.;  and 
cupidity,  disappointed  by  the  will  of  his  wife’s  incensed 
father,  retaliated  its  mortification  on  its  imprudent 
victim.  Lady  Emily,  in  all  the  humiliating  privations 
of  indigent  rank,  and  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a game- 
ster’s fortunes,  led  a life  more  consonant  to  her 
unregulated  character,  than  favorable  to  her  happi- 
ness. The  remote  chance  of  a succession  to  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


255 


Dunore  property  and  title1  enabled  Lord  Fitzadelm 
to  raise  money  from  credulous  usury  ; and  they  were 
enabled  to  support  an  existence,  which  frequently 
touched  upon  the  extremes  of  fortune,  until  a bank- 
rupt credit  in  England  drove  them,  after  a struggle 
of  fifteen  years,  into  an  economical  retreat  in  Italy. 

The  ravages  of  an  hereditary  disease  in  the  elder 
branch  of  the  house  of  Fitzadelm,  gradually  brought 
her  husband  nearer  to  the  goal  of  his  long-cherished 
hopes.  The  succession  was  the  die  upon  which  Lord 
Fitzadelm  had  staked  his  fraternal  feelings,  his  honor, 
and  almost  his  life ; and  when  he  was  upon  the  point 
of  obtaining  the  object  of  sacrifices,  never  to  be 
remunerated  by  any  worldly  good,  death  snatched 
him  from  its  enjoyment.  The  old  Marquis  of  .Dunore, 
his  remote  kinsman,  having  followed  his  son  and  his 
grandsons  to  the  grave,  survived  his  ambitious  heir, 
Baron  Gerald  Fitzadelm,  by  some  years. 

By  her  husband’s  death,  Lady  Emily  was  at  last 
relieved  from  a precarious  existence,  and  restored  to 
that  immense  fortune,  of  which  the  continuance  of 
his  life  had  by  her  father’s  will  so  long  deprived  her. 

At  the  head  of  this  princely  property,  and  mother 
to  the  heir  presumptive  of  the  Marquis  of  Dunore, 
she  beheld  herself  possessed  of  the  disposal  of  three 
voices  in  the  senate,  at  a moment  when  even  the  echo 
of  a voice  had  its  price,  when  the  British  House  of 
Commons  was  considered  by  the  ministry  as  a 
market  where  the  barter  of  independence  was  openly 
to  be  carried  on.  To  this  actual  interest,  Lady 
Emily  added  the  chance  of  an  influence  over  the 
political  opinions  of  her  son  and  his  boroughs ; and 
she  became  at  once  an  object  of  anxious  solicitude  to 


256 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ministerial  intrigue  and  political  craft.  Thus  sud- 
denly raised  to  the  summit  of  consideration,  she 
found  no  difficulty,  on  her  son’s  succession  to  the 
marquisate,  in  obtaining  for  herself  and  younger 
child  the  rank  of  a marquis’s  wife  and  son;  she 
became  queen  at  arms  in  the  world  of  fashion,  pre- 
sided despotically  over  its  heraldry,  bestowed  or 
rejected  claims  to  notoriety  at  pleasure,  and  was  at 
the  head  of  that  small  exclusive  class  of  women,  who, 
in  London,  hold  in  their  own  hands  the  keys  of  the 
paradise  of  vogue,  and  give  or  withdraw  the  patent 
bon-ton,  as  whim,  taste,  passion,  or  prejudice  decide. 

While  the  ministers  succeeded  to  their  fullest  desire 
with  the  mother,  the  sons  (who  were  assailed,  even 
before  they  were  of  age,  by  all  the  undermining  arts 
which  power  exerts  to  seduce  where  it  cannot  con- 
vince, and  to  attain  by  numbers  what  it  wants  in 
efficiency)  were  found  wholly  untractable.  Self- 
willed  and  perverse  as  their  mother,  their  obliquity 
had  taken  another  direction  : they  laughed  at  her 
politics,  and  held  those  from  whom  she  received 
them  in  utter  contempt.  It  was  curious  also  to 
observe  the  family  temperament  breaking  out  in  a 
third  generation ; and  what  had  been  violence,  bor- 
dering on  insanity,  in  the  grandfather,  exaggeration 
of  feeling,  even  to  childishness  in  the  mother,  ter- 
minating in  absolute  madness  in  the  elder  son,  and 
betraying  itself  in  the  younger,  in  a brilliant  but 
eccentric  genius,  tinctured  by  all  the  wildness, 
oddity,  and  irregularity  of  the  family  infliction.  The 
young  Lord  Dunore  had  not  long  enjoyed  his  new 
honors  when  it  was  found  necessary  to  put  him 
under  strict  confinement;  and  his  mother  had  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTIlY. 


257 


interest  to  get  herself  appointed  his  representative 
and  sole  guardian* 

Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm,  the  object  of  all  her 
solicitude,  and  of  whatever  she  possessed  of  maternal 
affection,  still  held  his  supremacy  by  his  opposition  to 
her  will.  Dependent  during  her  life  upon  her 
bounty,  he  turned  even  his  dependence  into  a 
tyranny.  His  extravagant  demands  upon  her  purse 
gave  occasion  for  that  resistance  and  complaint 
which  now  formed  the  principal  good  of  her  too 
prosperous  existence.  His  opposition  to  all  her 
political  ambition  in  his  favor,  his  refusing  a seat  in 
the  house,  and  an  office  at  court,  were  sources  of 
eternal  reproach  increasing  her  artificial  stock  of 
“ Unheedful  passions,  and  unfruitful  woes 
and  while  his  frequent  absences  from  England,  his  ec- 
centricities, and  his  extravagance,  afforded  her  a con- 
stant supply  of  delightful  misery,  he  became  neces- 
sary to  her  existence  in  proportion  as  he  tormented 
it : and  had  he  been  more  amenable  to  her  will,  he 
would  have  been  less  dear  to  her  affections. 

Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm,  who  went  wrong  by  sys- 
tem, and  right  by  impulse,  wanted  only  the  spur  of 
necessity  to  have  become  supereminent  in  whatever 
direction  his  talent  might  have  taken.  But  fortune 
had  spoiled  all  that  would  have  been  a counter- 
balance to  a morbid  temperament.  Without  occupa- 
tion, contemning  the  strenuous  idleness  of  official  in- 
efficiency as  he  despised  the  political  system  which 
might  have  devoted  him  to  it,  he  gave  himself  up 
without  reluctance  to  his  natural  disposition.  Indo- 
lent and  meditative,  subtle  and  fanciful,  he  possessed 
the  acuteness  and  querulousness  of  melancholy,  with- 


258 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


out  its  causes.  The  victim  of  a metaphysical  hypo- 
chondriasis, he  indulged  in  every  species  of  eccen- 
tricity, and  was  gratified  by  the  singular  reputation 
it  acquired  for  him  in  a society  where  dulness  and 
apathy,  mediocrity  and  moderation,  formed  the  pre- 
vailing characteristics  of  his  less  gifted  cotemporaries. 
Vain  and  capricious,  but  high-spirited  and  liberal,  the 
shadows  of  his  faults,  like  those  of  evening,  fell  with 
a breadth  disproportionate  to  the  objects  which  pro- 
jected them,  and  were  spread  far  and  wide  before  the 
world’s  gaze ; while  his  merits,  like  the  rays  of  light 
collected  on  a focus,  were  circumscribed  within  the 
narrow  circle  of  intimacy,  where  they  burned  brightly 
in  proportion  to  their  concentration.  He  had  made 
the  world  the  confidant  of  his  errors,  and  was  almost 
jealous  of  the  friend  who  acknowledged  that  he  had 
discovered  his  virtues. 

Lord  Adelm  was  in  Portugal  in  the  pursuit  of  some 
object  of  dominant  caprice,  when  a communication 
was  made  to  the  Marchioness  of  Dunore  through  Mr, 
Crawley,  from  the  loyal  corporation  of  Glannacrime, 
of  their  wish  that  she  should  set  up  her  youngest  son 
for  that  borough,  on  the  demise  of  their  last  member, 
and  in  opposition  to  the  family  of  O’Mahoney,  noto- 
rious Whigs,  and  supported  by  the  independent  inter- 
est. Lady  Dunore,  by  the  advice  of  her  ministerial 
friends,  acceded  to  this  request ; and  while  her  uncon- 
scious son  was  wooing  the  muse  of  Camoens,  in  the 
shades  of  Coimbra,  she  determined  to  have  him  placed 
in  nomination  for  the  vacant  borough.  A letter  he 
received,  containing  a few  lines,  without  name  or 
date,  but  with  an  English  post-mark,  informed  him  of 
the  whole  intrigue.  This  letter  had  nothing  singular 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


259 


about  it,  but  the  motto  of  the  seal,  which  was  Portu- 
guese, and  was  “ Sou  utile  aincla  quc  briccandoP 
The  friends  or  acquaintances  of  the.  Marchioness  of 
Dunore  were  composed  of  such  persons  as  are  usually 
found  following  the  great  to  their  temporary  retreats, 
from  what  is  designated  the  world ; and  were  picked 
up  by  accident,  chosen  by  caprice,  or  tolerated  from 
necessity.  Her  dear  friend  and  quondam  rival  ( selon 
les  regies ),  Lady  Georgiana  Vivian,  was  a person  of 
high  rank  and  moderate  fortune,  one  of  the  supreme 
exclusives  of  the  supreme  bon-ton.  With  a character 
vibrating  between  sentiment  and  libertinism,  refined 
in  her  manners,  free  in  her  conduct,  she  had  already 
replaced  the  bloom  of  youth  by  the  complaisance  of 
experience,  and  secured  an  ascendency  over  the  amoiyr- 
propre  of  her  male  friends,  which  brighter  charms  in 
vain  disputed.  Acting  with  desperation  against  the 
world’s  rules,  she  obtained  by  her  address  its  suf- 
frages and  sanction : and  with  an  air 

“ Silent  and  soft  as  saints  removed  to  lieaven,” 


she  had  the  courage  to  venture  beyond  those  barriers 
of  discretion,  which  others  of  freer  deportment  trem- 
bled to  approach. 

The  character  and  appearance  of  Lady  Georgiana 
formed  opposite  extremes.  Her  conversation  was  a 
murmur,  her  look  simplicity,  her  manner  naivete . 
She  coquetted  through  a series  of  attitudes  with  her 
lovely  children,  and  talked  of  poor  dear  Vivian, 
whom  she  had  left  at  home  in  the  gout,  with  a tone 
so  tender,  that  it  was  difficult  to  decide  how  so  fond 
a mother  and  so  devoted  a wife  could  live  without 
the  objects  of  her  affection.  A letter  received  by  her 
ladyship  from  Lord  Frederick  Eversham  had  been 


260 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


shown  by  her  to  Lady  Dunore.  This  letter  contained 
a most  overcharged  and  ludicrous  description  of  the 
country  from  which  Lord  Frederick  derived  a salary, 
very  acceptable  to  the  younger  brother  of  one  of  the 
poorest  dukes  in  Great  Britain.  But  most  of  all,  his 
descriptive  ridicule  rested  upon  the  little  court  of 
which  he  formed  a part,  and  on  the  government,  out 
of  -whose  arrangements  his  sinecure  originated.  He 
had  visited  many  courts ; was  familiar  with  princes, 
and  known  to  monarch s ; he  had  fought  in  the  field 
with  emperors,  and  done  the  honors  for  sovereigns ; 
a court  without  a government,  a representative  of 
majesty  without  power,  patronage,  or  influence, 
seemed,  therefore,  to  him  an  incongruous  combina- 
tion; while  the  solemn  trifling  formalities,  in  which 
he  was  himself  officially  involved,  afforded  him  end- 
less amusement.  The  whole  recalled  to  him  some- 
thing he  had  heard  or  read  of  the  formal  puerilities 
distinguishing  the  government  and  court  of  China ; 
and  from  the  moment  he  discovered  the  similitude, 
Ireland  was  to  him  the  celestial  empire,  the  castle  of 
Dublin,*  Tien  Sing , or  the  ‘ Heavenly  Spot]  and  sec- 
retaries, chiefs,  subs,  aids-de-camp,  and  officers  of  the 
household,  were  chop-mandarins  of  every  colored 
button  in  the  prismatic  scale. 

The  letter  of  Lord  Frederick  which  promised 
amusement,  the  epistles  of  the  Crawleys  which 
threatened  dangers,  a dead  season,  hatred  of  water- 
ing-places, an  offer  from  Lady  Emily  to  accompany 
her  friend,  a promise  from  Lord  Frederick  to  com- 

* The  castle  is  the  residence  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  From 
this  “ heavenly  spot”  all  that  is  good  and  great  is  supposed  to 
emanate. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


261 


pose  a party  faite  a ravir  for  Dunore  Castle,  combined 
to  fix  the  wavering  intentions  of  Lady  Dunore.  She 
had  a few  weeks  before  given  up  all  idea  of  attending 
the  election;  and  her  new  orders,  issued  with  the 
promptitude  of  lightning,  and  executed  with  equal 
celerity,  enabled  her  to  reach  Dublin  before  she  could 
find  leisure  to  inform  Mr.  Crawley  that  she  had 
changed  her  mind. 

The  party  promised  by  Lord  Frederick  to  dissipate 
the  ennui  of  Lady  Dunore,  consisted  of  Mr.  Heneage, 
a young  Englishman  of  fashion,  and  brother  aid-de- 
camp, and  a Mr.  Pottinger,  whom  Lord  Frederick 
had  described  in  his  letter  as  the  “ Baldassar  Castig- 
lione,”  the  Cortegiano  of  the  Irish  court,  and  the  very 
representative  of  its  insignificance,  formality,  and  ob- 
sequiousness to  all  the  powers  that  be.  To  call  forth 
the  results  of  these  qualities  had  indeed  been  the 
principal  amusements  of  Lord  Frederick’s  life,  ever 
since  his  arrival  in  Ireland;  while  Mr.  Pottinger, 
proud  of  being  distinguished  by  any  great  man, 
looked  up  to  the  brother  of  a duke  with  a deference 
which  no  consciousness  of  Lord  Frederick’s  ridicule 
ever  disturbed. 

Mr.  Heneage  was  of  the  rising  order  of  dull  dan- 
dies ; he  had  just  sufficient  volition  to  choose  his  call- 
ing, and  sufficient  energy  to  iron  the  cravat  that  indi- 
cated it ; he  spoke  little,  because  he  had  nothing  to 
say,  and  would  have  spoken  less  had  it  been  possible 
in  the  necessary  intercourse  of  life  to  use  fewer 
words;  for  he  believed  that  to  be  truly  fine,  one 
should  not  speak  at  all.  His  dandy  aphorism  was, 
that  every  lady  should  be  her  own  link-boy,  and  his 
dandy  system  was  to  suffer  her  to  be  so. 


i 


262 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Lord  Frederick,  though  a young  man,  was  a dow- 
ager dandy,  and  was  among  the  original  founders  of 
that  now  degenerate  and  declining  order.  Great 
tact,  savoir  vivre  and  humor  had  distinguished  his 
early  probation,  when  to  be  a dandy  it  was  requisite 
to  be  something  more  than  a coxcomb.  Two  years’ 
residence  in  Paris  (where  as  a prisoner  of  war  on 
parole  he  had  been  the  delices  of  every  fashionable 
circle)  had  confirmed  him  a m,erveilleux ; and  he  now 
so  pleasantly  mingled  the  fopperies  of  his  home  vo- 
cation and  foreign  calling,  that  it  was  difficult  to  say 
whether  St.  James’s  street  or  the  Chaus  see  cPantin 
had  the  fairest  claim  to  his  peculiarities.  For  the 
rest,  Lord  Frederick  was  one 

“ Whom  folly  pleases,  and  whose  follies  please,” 
who  almost  dignified  vanity,  and  rendered  affectation 
supportable  by  the  good  sense  and  good  feeling 
which,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  conceal  both,  formed 
the  basis  of  his  character. 

In  gallantry  aimer  en  courant  was  his  device ; and 
it  was  literally  en  courant  from  Dover  to  Dublin 
(where  his  new  appointment  awaited  him)  that  he 
dropped  into  the  opera,  saw  Lady  Georgiana  Vivian 
in  Lady  Dunore’s  box,  found  or  fancied  in  her  what 
he  called  “ the  delicious  laissez  aller  ease  of  a charm- 
ing French  woman;”  and  after  a few  days  devoted 
aux  petit  soins , left  London  in  love  and  despair. 

Lord  Rosbrin,  who  did  not  arrive  with  this  party 
faite  a ravir , but  who  was  to  join  it  from  his  seat  in 
the  neighborhood,  was  a foolish-looking  young  man, 
whose  vacant  countenance  seemed  to  beg  Macbeth’s 
question  of 


Where  got’st  thou  that  goose  look  T 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


263 


He  was  born  and  educated  in  England ; his  vast  pro- 
perty lay  in  the  south  of  Ireland ; and  his  first  visit  to 
that  country  was  for  the  purpose  of  enlisting  himself 
into  the  service  of  the  Kilkenny  theatricals,  where 
his  rank  not  obtaining  for  him  a high  cast  of  parts, 
he  was  contented  to  exhibit  himself  as  one  of  Mac- 
heath’s  gang,  and  to  appear  in  the  character  of  mutes, 
senators,  generals,  and  others. 

The  intellectual  capabilities  of  Lord  Rosbrin  went 
further  towards  overturning  the  doctrine  of  innate 
ideas  than  all  Locke  has  written  on  the  subject,  with- 
out, however,  affording  much  testimony  in  favor  of 
ideas  acquired.  His  mind  was  a tablet  upon  which 
memory,  the  genius  of  fools,  had  made  some  traces ; 
and  upon  this  stock  of  tag-rag  recollections,  obtained 
from  play-books,  he  had  traded  through  life,  without 
any  one  calling  into  question  his  property  in  the  pos- 
session. Yain,  in  proportion  as  he  was  weak,  his 
dramatic  vocation  had  arisen  from  the  applause  be- 
stowed upon  his  recitations  when  a child ; and  the 
blue  and  silver  draperies  in  which  he  had  played  Ariel 
at  a private  theatre,  decided  his  calling  for  life ; from 
that  moment  to  him  “ all  the  world  was  a stage, 

‘ And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players.’  ” 

His  mind  was  stored  with  theatrical  associations, 
stage  properties,  and  stage  anecdotes,  leaving  him 
little  better  than  a walking  prompter’s  book.  Ambi- 
tioning  the  first  class  of  parts  in  the  theatre  he  was 
building  at  Kilrosbrin,  he  looked  down  upon  all  sen- 
ates but  that  in  Othello ; and  preferring  the  potent, 
grave,  and  reverend  signors  of  Venice  to  the  potent, 
grave,  and  reverend  signors  of  St.  Stephens,  he 
threw  his  Irish  boroughs  into  the  hands  of  a political 


264 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


stock-jobber,  who  dabbled  so  successfully  for  him  in 
the  funds  of  ministerial  influence,  that  from  a mere 
Irish  baronet  he  in  a few  years  became  Baron,  Vis- 
count, and  Earl  of  Rosbrin  of  Kilrosbrin  in  Ireland, 
and  Mount  Wareham  in  England. 

To  meet  this  party,  Lady  Dunore  had  sent  from 
Dublin  a most  pressing  invitation  to  her  maternal 
uncle,  the  Right  Honorable  Hyacinth  Daly,  of  Daly’s 
Court,  in  the  province  of  Connaught,  who  obeyed 
the  summons  with  such  alacrity,  that  he  was  seated 
at  his  niece’s  toilette  the  day  after  her  arrival  at  the 
castle.  He  loved  her  for  her  mother’s  sake,  whose 
frailty  and  misfortunes  had  substituted  pity  for  the 
resentment  which  had  risked  his  life  in  a duel  with 
her  betrayer.  Mr.  Daly,  now  in  his  seventieth  year, 
of  an  ancient  Irish  family,  which  for  two  centuries 
had  represented  their  native  county,  a privy-coun- 
cillor of  forty  years’  standing,  and  one  of  the  small 
minority  which  went  out  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Union,  was  in  person,  character,  and  manners,  a 
genuine  epitome  of  the  ancient  Irish  gentleman.  He 
preserved,  even  at  his  advanced  age,  that  species  of 
chivalrous  gallantry  in  his  manners,  which  not  long 
since  distinguished  the  gentry  of  the  country,  and 
which  sent  them  forth  to  foreign  courts  the  most 
accomplished  cavaliers  of  their  day;  or  as  a mon- 
arch, who  was  himself  a fine  gentleman,  named 
them,  “ the  finest  gentlemen  in  Europe.”  Time, 
which  had  shed  its  snows  on  the  venerable  head  of 
Hyacinth  Daly,  had  not  “ thinned  his  flowing  hair,” 
which  he  still  wore  dressed  with  infinite  care,  and 
precisely  as  he  had  worn  it  forty-four  years  before, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


265 


when  he  first  took  his  place  in  the  Irish  House  of 
Commons. 

Mr.  Daly  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  in  the  memorable  year  1782,  when 
Ireland  for  a moment  was  a nation ; and  he  had  kept 
his  noble  mansion  in  Dublin  until  the  Union ; then, 
having  followed  the  liberties  of  his  country  from 
their  cradle  to  their  tomb,  he  retired  forever  from 
the  scene  of  their  ruin,  spent  his  winter  in  London, 
and  his  summer  at  Daly’s  Court ; and  never  saw  the 
capital,  but  to  pass  through  it,  for  the  purpose  of 
crossing  the  Channel.  His  mansion  in  Dublin  (now 
a barrack)  had  been  open  to  all  the  rank,  talent,  and 
worth  of  the  land.  There,  all  that  has  been  flatter- 
ingly said  of  the  genius,  spirit,  and  gaiety  of  the  Irish 
character,  was  realized  in  its  circles : there  he  had 
lived  with  the  Charlemonts,  the  Burghs,  the  Grat- 
tans, the  Currans,  the  Floods  : and  there,  many  a 
beauty,  who  had  afterwards  added  splendor  to  the 
galaxy  of  British  loveliness,  had  imped  her  wing  for 
conquest, — the  Gunning,  Monroe,  or  Birmingham  of 
her  day. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


La  noblesse  de  soi  est  bonne,  c’est  nne  chose  considerable 
assurement ; mais  elle  est  accompagn^e  de  tant  de  mauvaises 
circonstances,  qu’il  est  tr&s  bon  de  ne  pas  s’y  frotter. 

George  Dandin. 

The  time,  thoughts  and  feelings  of  Lady  Dunore, 
on  the  day  after  her  arrival,  were  wholly  engrossed 
by  the  three  leading  members  of  the  Crawley  family, 
whom  she  had  received  in  her  dressing-room  after 
breakfast. 

The  elder  Crawley  overwhelmed  her  with  mano- 
rial business,  plunged  her  in  all  the  endless  details  of 
rents  and  roads,  leases  and  fines,  bills,  parchments, 
and  accounts,  till  her  eyes  were  dazzled  with  figures, 
and  her  head  ran  round  with  fatigue.  The  business, 
upon  which  she  had  at  first  entered  with  eagerness, 
as  being  new  and  out  of  her  way,  became  intolerably 
wearisome  and  insupportably  disgusting  in  its  pro- 
gress. Throwing  from  her  therefore  a pile  of  papers, 
with  which  Mr.  Crawley  had  heaped  her  table,  she 
exclaimed  in  a tone  of  exhaustion : 

“ There,  Mr.  Crawley,  I can  hold  out  no  longer ; 
pray  remove  these  horrors  from  my  sight  if  you  wish 
me  to  live.  You  are  the  best  judge  of  what  is  for 
my  son’s  interest.  You  have  always  been  active  in 
our  service.  Only  we  want  money  to  carry  on  the 
war,  observe ; for  you  Irish  are  always  dreadfully  in 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


267 


arrears,  and  we  must  get  our  rents  better  paid.  For 
the  rest,  if  you  wish  me  to  remain  among  you  ano- 
ther week,  never  overwhelm  me  again  in  this  way. 
I would  rather,”  she  added,  gradually  working  her- 
self into  a fever  of  annoyance,  “ I would  rather  be 
mistress  of  an  Irish  cabin,  and  live  upon  your  Irish 
potatoes  and  buttermilk,  than  submit  to  this,  Mr. 
Crawley ; and  if  such  is  the  tax  upon  Irish  property, 
give  me  back  the  ‘far  niente 7 of  my  Italian  indigence, 
where,  when  one  enjoyed  the  climate,  one  enjoyed 
everything;  and  where  time,  patience,  temper,  plea- 
sure and  health  were  not  sacrificed  for  leave  to  live 
in  a melancholy  old  castle,  on  a savage  sea-coast,  at 
the  head  of  a beggarly  town,  amidst  clouds  and 
storms,  and  among  people  who,  as  Mr.  Conway  says, 
even  when  quiet,  may  be  compared  to  a slumbering 
volcano.” 

Old  Crawley,  having  thus  attained  his  point,  swept 
up  all  his  papers  and  parchments  into  his  green  bag, 
with  a mingled  look  of  obsequiousness  and  humor, 
and  was  succeeded  by  the  law  agent  for  the  election. 
He,  in  his  turn,  poured  forth  a tirade  of  invectives 
against  the  whiggish  O’Mahonys,  whom  he  repre- 
sented as  sturdy  opponents  of  the  present  order  of 
things,  and  as  inflaming  the  minds  of  the  people  for 
their  own  private  ends.  He  spoke  of  strengthening 
the  hands  of  her  ladyship’s  ministerial  friends,  talked 
jocosely  of  “ we  the  corruptionists,”  paraded,  with 
great  pomp  of  words,  his  electioneering  schemes,  de- 
tailed his  wonderful  successes,  and  went  through  a 
general  account  of  the  large  sums  which  had  already 
been  lavished  in  the  prosecution  of  the  cause. 

With  this  specimen  of  his  business  talents  he  con- 


288 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


trived  to  mingle  some  smart  jokes  and  good  points, 
drew  forth  his  “ little  equipage  of  wit!”  dealed 
largely  in  quotations,  poetical  and  French  scarps, 
and  rounded  on  his  peroration  with  a well-timed, 
well-placed  and  well-received  flattery,  offered  to  the 
rank,  political  importance,  and  even  personal  attrac- 
tion of  his  noble  patroness. 

“Well,”  interrupted  Lady  Dunore,  yawning,  as  he 
attempted  to  return  to  some  details  of  the  freehold- 
ers lately  registered ; “ well,  for  the  present  that  will 
do,  Mr.  Conway;  but  spare  me  the  refrain  of  the 
eternal  election.  You  have  managed  so  well  that  I 
think  we  may  promise  ourselves  a dull  kind  of  suc- 
cess enough.  It  would  set  one  wild,  though,  if  Fitza- 
delm  should  come  over  and  spoil  all,  by  refusing  the 
borough,  after  so  much  money  has  been  spent  upon 
it.”  And  she  added,  with  a look  that  indicated  it 
would  not  be  an  unpleasant  thing  if  he  did,  “ but 
there  is  no  chance  of  that,  and  so  things  will  go  on 
sleepily  enough;  and  I don’t  think  I need  go  to 
oatch  one  of  your  Irish  typhuses,  that  you  describe 
so  frightfully,  by  personally  canvassing  your  greasy 
corporation  people  of  Glannacrime.  But,  oh  dear, 
Miss  Crawley,  what  pretty  things  are  you  making 
out  of  that  scrap  of  couleur  de  rose  note  paper? 
Couleur  de  rose  is  such  a relief  to  the  eye  after  yel- 
low parchments.” 

“ It  is  an  invisible  fly-trap,  madam,  to  catch  the 
little  epicures  who  come  to  feast  upon  hands,  which, 
as  Cleopatra  says,  1 kings  have  lipped,’  ” replied  Miss 
Crawley  with  an  insinuating  smile. 

Miss  Crawley,  with  scissors  and  cut-paper,  now 
succeeded  in  her  turn  to  her  brother  and  nephew. 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


269 


But  pink  paper,  like  yellow  parchments,  and  fly-traps, 
as  well  as  elections,  were  destined  rapidly  to  wear 
out  the  attention  of  Lady  Dunore ; and  Miss  Craw- 
ley had  recourse  to  the  castle,  of  which  she  voted 
herself  the  cicerone,  to  revive  her  flagging  interest, 
and  to  engross  her  ladyship  to  herself  for  the  rest  of 
the  day.  In  the  course  of  two  hours  they  had  mounted 
to  the  highest  turret,  descended  into  the  deepest  dun- 
geon, penetrated  the  darkest  closet,  stood  exposed 
upon  the  rudest  battlement,  talked  of  ghosts  and 
rebels,  balls  and  insurrections,  marked  out  alterations 
and  improvements,  ramparts  to  be  thrown  down,  and 
verandas  to  be  raised,  swans  to  be  procured,  and 
ponds  to  be  cut  for  them,  the  sea  to  be  banked  out, 
and  rivers  to  be  turned  in,  families  to  be  excluded, 
and  families  to  be  admitted : all  this  was  diversified 
with  discussions  upon  evangelical  schools,  quotations 
from  evangelical  tracts,  and  many,  very  many  soft,  in- 
sinuating, penetrating  compliments  from  the  diplo- 
matic Miss  Crawley,  on  the  reform  which  the  power, 
influence,  rank,  talents,  and  virtues  of  Lady  Dunore 
might  effect  in  a dark,  unfortunate,  and  bewildered 
people. 

Reform,  with  Lady  Dunore,  meant  change  : change 
was  always  delightful;  and, for  the  present,  so  was  Miss 
Crawley,  who  indicated  its  possibility,  and  who  had  al- 
ready awakened  so  strong  a prepossession  in  her  in- 
tended neophyte,  that  Lady  Dunore  would  not  part  with 
her,  to  return  to  Mount  Crawley  to  dress  for  dinner, 
till  she  had  promised  that,  as  soon  as  her  family  visi- 
tors should  leave  her,  she  would  come  and  take  up 
her  residence  at  Dunore.  The  male  Crawley s had 
fatigued  with  their  facts,  the  female  had  amused  with 


270 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


her  speculations;  both  served  their  own  purposes, 
while  they  played  with  her  feebleness  and  caprice ; 
and  as  Miss  Crawley  drove  off  from  the  castle  in  her 
jaunting-car,  she  mentally  exclaimed,  with  triumph, 

“ Dame  du  Palais  indeed ! and  now  let  Lady  Clan- 
care  look  to  it.” 

The  fashionable  guests  at  Dunore  Castle  had  not 
met  till  the  idle  half-hour  before  dinner  assembled  i 
them  in  the  saloon,  into  which  they  straggled  one  by 
one.  Mr.  Pottinger  was  engaged  with  Debrett’s 
Peerage,  Mr.  Heneage  with  his  cravat,  and  Lady 
Georgiana  in  winding  gold  thread  from  an  ivory  reel,  j 
held  by  Lord  Frederick,  who  lay  lounging  beside  her 
on  an  ottoman,  when  the  whole  house  of  Crawley, 
male  and  female,  were  announced  en  masse)  and  made 
their  entrance  together.  The  men  were  in  inky  suits 
of  professional  black,  save  the  major,  who  was  all 
scarlet  and  medals.  The  ladies  were  covered  with 
Honiton  lace,  and  Irish  diamonds.  The  four  tawney 
Miss  Crawleys  were  beflounced  and  befurbelowed 
knee  deep ; and  Miss  Leslie  dragged  up  her  gown  on 
her  fat  white  shoulders,  as  she  entered,  with  a look 
of  innocent  effrontery  that  might  put  even  fashionable 
-ease  to  the  blush  of  inferiority. 

This  “incursion  of  the  Kalmucks,”  as  Lord  Fred- 
erick termed  it,  seemed  to  afford  him  strong  motives 
for  amazement  and  delight.  He  dropped  the  ivory 
reel,  seized  his  glass,  and  murmured  his  observations 
to  Lady  Georgiana,  who  seemed  no  less  amused  than 
himself,  while,  according  to  precedence  precise  and 
formal,  they  passed  up  to  the  top  of  the  room,  where 
Mr.  Pottinger,  with  his  old  habits  of  ceremony,  stood 
receiving  them  in  the  absence  of  Lady  Dunore,  the 


\ 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


271 


lady  lieutenant  of  the  hour.  The  eldest  Miss  Crawley 
was  the  first,  as  proudly  pre-eminent  in  ridicule,  to 
attract  Lord  Frederick’s  attention;  and  he  asked 
Lady  Georgiana,  whose  spy-glass  followed  the  direc- 
tion of  his  own,  “ Now,  in  pity,  who  is  that  Berg  ere 
derangee , so  withered  and  so  wild  in  her  attire  ? — 
the  oldest  piece  of  mortality,  surely,  that  ever  took 
shelter  under  a white  chip  hat.  Cela  a cent  ans 
sonnes ! not  an  hour  less  ! and  then  the  matron,  with 
the  green  necklace  and  the  green  eyes,  set  apparently 
by  the  same  hand ; — and  those  four  little  1 tawny  tight 
ones,’  and  the  fat  pretty  roily  polly  soul,  with  the 
brogue  in  her  shoulders  ! dest  impayable . But  here 
comes  Ching-foo  Crawley,  of  the  yellow  button,  at 
the  head  of  the  Chop  Mandarins  of  the  interior.  I 
must  go  and  do  ko-tou,  and  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  him.  No,  the  whole  celestial  empire  furnishes 
nothing  like  my  Ching-foo  Crawley.” 

While  Lord  Frederick,  with  great  cordiality,  re- 
turned the  familiar  pressure  of  Mr.  Crawley’s  two 
hands,  who,  as  his  lordship  afterwards  expressed  it  to 
Lady  Georgiana,  was  an  “ embrasseur  impitoyable ,” 
Lady  Dunore  entered,  leaning  upon  her  uncle’s  arm, 
flushed  and  animated  by  the  bustle  and  excitement 
of  the  morning,  and  by  the  arrival  of  her  venerable 
relation,  who  was  the  most  welcome  of  all  her  guests, 
because  he  was  the  last.  She  received  the  whole 
Crawley  congress,  to’  many  of  whom  she  was  a 
stranger,  with  an  air  imposing  from  its  decided  but 
carelessly  betrayed  consciousness  of  high  superiority; 
and  which  was  the  more  marked  by  the  exaggerated 
condescension  in  her  manner  and  cordiality,  which, 


272 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


though  eminently  conciliating,  was  anything  but 
familiar. 

When  the  first  salutations  were  over,  the  Crawley 
phalanx,  “ taking  close  order,”  ranged  into  a formal 
circle,  and  seating  themselves  in  a row  with  the  regu- 
larity of  nine-pins,  looked  as  if  they  were  incorporated 
with  their  chairs,  and  remained  silent,  motionless, 
and  under  evident  restraint.  The  women,  when 
called  upon  by  Lady  Dunore,  minced  their  Irish 
accent,  and  spoke  in  monosyllables  to  conceal  it : the 
men  for  the  moment  were  struck  dumb  by  the 
appearance  of  the  “ great  Daly  of  Daly’s  Court,”  who 
was  out  of  their  caste  and  class,  and  whom  they  had 
never  seen  at  the  castle  dinners.  The  intermitting 
fever  of  Lady  Dunore  now  seized  upon  her  imagina- 
tion, as  she  contemplated  the  group  of  which  she  was 
the  restless  centre.  The  Crawley  circle  was  a circle 
she  never  could  break ; the  Crawley  dulness  was  a 
duln ess  she  never  could  dissipate;  and  she  fluttered 
and  floundered,  as  if  under  some  spell,  which,  all 
restlessness,  motion,  and  ennui,  she  in  vain  endeav- 
ored to  dissolve.  Lord  Frederick,  seated  by  Lady 
Georgiana,  followed  her  motions  with  transport,  and 
whispered  to  her  as  she  hovered  near  him  : 

“ Marquise  de  mon  ame , that  circle  is  your  death- 
warrant.  You  die  the  death  of  a bored:  this  day, 
this  fatal  day,  je  vous  en  repond , bel  idol  mio.  Look ! 
’tis  the  hieroglyphical  circle  of  eternity ! the  serpent 
with  his  tail  in  his  mouth ! an  image  of  the  durability 
of  the  celestial  empire ! and  of  the  reign  of  the  Craw- 
ley mandarins  and  mandarinas,  without  beginning  or 
end!” 

“ I won’t  wait  another  minute  for  Rosbrin,”  said 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


273 


the  marchioness,  reddening  to  the  eyes,  and  pulling 
the  bell  with  a violence  that  left  its  cord  in  her 
hands.  “ I will  have  dinner  directly  !” 

“ Wait  for  Rosbrin  !”  repeated  Mr.  Daly  : “ no,  to 
be  sure ; nobody  waits  for  Rosbrin.  His  movements 
are  more  likely  to  be  regulated  by  a prompt-book 
than  a time-keeper ; for  while  your  soup  cools  at  Du- 
nore,  he  is  probably  ‘ supping,  full  of  horrors,’  at 
Macbeth’s  banquet;  or  perhaps  flinging  a shoulder  of 
mutton  at  Catherine’s  head,  while  your  venison  drops 
from  the  spit.” 

Of  all  the  members  of  the  Crawley  family,  ole?  9 
Darby,  though  lowest  in  professional  rank,  was  the; 
person  most  at  ease  with  respect  to  himself,  and  the) 
circle  in  which  accident  might  place  him.  His  proud 
consciousness  of  native  humor,  if  it  did  not  enable 
him  to  distinguish  between  being  laughed  with  or 
laughed  at,  led  him  to  risk  himself  in  all  situations  : 
for,  save  where  his  worldly  interests  were  concerned, 
there  was  an  obtuse,  inveterate,  untractable  dulness 
about  him,  which  left  him  the  most  unguarded  mark 
the  point  of  ridicule  could  aim  at.  The  distinguished 
attention  paid  by  the  marchioness  to  his  family,  the 
desire  to  show  off  before  Mr.  Daly,  and  to  evince  to 
him  the  intimacy  in  which  he  stood  with  the  Dunore 
family,  now  led  him  to  the  assumption  of  a more  than 
ordinary  ease  and  familiarity;  and  before  the  mar- 
chioness had  finished  her  soup,  he  addressed  her 
with — 

“ If  I’m  not  entirely  mistaken,  the  last  time  I had 
the  honor  of  tete-a-tete-mg  your  ladyship  in  a glass  of 
wine,  as  the  French  say,  it  was  at  your  sweet  little 
villa  of  Sans  six  sous , near  London : and  I should  be 


274 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


proud  if  you  would  allow  me  the  honor  of  com- 
memorating that  pleasure  now.  I remember  some 
charming  Madeira  you  had  at  Sans  six  sous.  What 
wine  does  your  ladyship  choose,  madam  ?”  and  he 
looked  in  vain  for  the  wine  glaciers  of  solid  silver, 
which  heated  rather  than  cooled  the  wines  of  his  own 
table.  Miss  Crawley  had  equally  in  vain  whispered 
“ Sans  souci)  during  this  speech,  while  Lord  Fre- 
derick, laying  down  his  spoon  with  a look  little  short 
of  ecstasy,  called  the  attention  of  Lady  Dunore,  who 
was  debating  with  Mr.  Daly  the  probability  of  Lord 
Rosbrin’s  arrival,  by  saying  : 

“ Lady  Dunore,  Mr.  Crawley  is  addressing  some 
little  reminiscence  to  your  unattending  ear,  about 
Sans  six  sous , your  villa  near  London. 15 

“ I am  after  requesting  your  ladyship  to  drink  wine 
with  me,”  added  Mr.  Crawley. 

91  Oh,  willingly ; but  I don’t  drink  wine  at  dinner. 
I am  upon  a regimen  just  now : but  I’ll  take  soda 
water  to  your  wine,  Mr.  Crawley,  with  all  my  heart.” 

This  was  an  innovation  in  Mr.  Crawley’s  idea  of 
good  breeding,  which  threw  him  entirely  off  his  cen- 
tre. In  his  circle,  ladies  never  refused  to  take  wine, 
whether  they  wished  for  it  or  no  : and  the  circum- 
stance of  no  wine  being  upon  the  table  added  to  his 
confusion ; when  the  butler  stepping  up,  and  asking 
what  wine  he  chose,  relieved  his  perplexity,  and  he 
answered,  “Port,  if  you  plaze;”  adding,  “if  your 
ladyship  is  upon  a regiment,  I should  be  sorry  to 
make  you  give  up  your  proscription.  So  I shall  have 
the  honor  to  drink  your  ladyship’s  health,  solus  cum 
solo” 

“ Thank  you,  thank  you,  Mr.  Crawley,”  said  Lady 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


275 


Dunore,  laughing  unresistingly,  while  Lord  Frederick, 
wholly  foregoing  his  soup,  ecstasied  over  the  richer 
feast  presented  him  by  Ching-foo  Crawley  of  the  yel- 
low button.  Meantime  Mr.  Crawley  repeatedly 
sipped  from  his  glass  with  a great  variety  of  expres- 
sion in  his  countenance,  each  indicating  disappoint 
ment ; till  at  last  he  bent  forward,  and  with  a face  of 
great  importance,  said : 

“ Pray,  my  lady,  who  do  you  dale  with  ?” 

“ Who  do  I deal  with,  Mr.  Crawley  ?” 

“ Yes,  madam  : I’d  just  be  glad  to  know  the  name 
of  your  ladyship’s  wine  merchant,  that’s  all.” 

“ I believe  that  wine  was  sent  in,  two  years  back, 
by  poor  Lord  Dunore.  Is  it  not  so,  Robertson?” 

“ Yes,  my  lady.” 

“ Why,  then,  whoever  he  is,  he  does  not  use  you 
well,”  returned  Crawley,  significantly. 

“ Why,  what  is  the  matter  ? Is  the  wine  bad?  Pray 
taste  that  wine  for  me,  Mr.  Daly.” 

Mr.  Daly  having  put  the  glass  to  his  lips,  exclaimed, 
with  a look  of  nausea,  “ By  Jove,  ’tis  catsup.” 

“ I give  you  my  honor,”  said  Crawley,  coolly,  “ I 
thought  it  was  no  great  things,  no  more  nor  the  mare 
that  ran  for  the  whiskey ; but  didn’t  care  to  be  the 
first  to  find  fault ; for  every  one  to  their  taste ; and  I 
didn’t  know  what  might  have  been  the  bon  mot  of 
London  in  the  present  day.” 

u Oh,  but  you  Irishmen  are  such  judges  of  wine,” 
said  Lady  Dunore,  laughingly,  “I  suppose  it  is  veryJ 
difficult  to  please  you.” 

“We  were,”  said  Mr.  Daly,  “before  the  introduc- 
tion of  that  coarse,  vulgar  beverage,  port,  at  our 
tables,  which  the  severe  taxation  at  present  obliges 


4 


276 


FLORENCE  MACARTHIf. 


us  to  drink.  In  my  time,  every  gentleman  imported 
liis  own  claret,  which  he  drank  out  of  the  wood ; and 
they  tapped  a hogshead  of  French  wine  as  we  now 
broach  a barrel  of  small  beer.” 

“ It  is,  however,  to  that  very  taxation,”  said  young 
Crawley,  pertly,  “ together  with  other  measures  of 
equal^wisdom  of  his  Majesty’s  ministers,  that  we  owe 
our  present  prosperity.” 

“ Exactly,”  said  Mr.  Daly,  dryly. 

“ Exactly,”  in  an  emphatic  tone,  reiterated  every 
member  of  the  Crawley  family ; while  the  commis- 
sioner made  a speech  upon  the  flourishing  state  of 
the  revenue,  and  concluded  with  asking  lady  Georgi- 
ana  to  take  wine.  Lady  Dunore,  taking  the  hint  of 
drinking  wine,  whispered  Lord  Frederick — 

“ Now  pray  do  the  honors,  and  help  me  on,  or  I 
shall  never  hold  out.” 

“No,  no — now  pray,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  “it  is 
not  in  my  way.  Heneage  always  drinks  wine  with 
the  young  ladies  at  the  castle,  as  youngest  aid-de- 
camp.” 

Mr.  Heneage,  thus  called  on,  pointed  his  spy-glass 
round  the  table  to  observe  who  was  worthy  of  the 
distinction,  and  at  last  sent  the  butler  to  Miss  Leslie, 
who  sat  within  two  of  him ; and  then  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  and  suffering  his  own  man  to  fill  his  glass, 
instead  of  bending  forward  to  meet  the  accustomed 
inclination  of  the  head  of  the  fair  person  he  had  chal- 
lenged, he  simply  asked  the  servant,  “ Wilkie,  does 
she  bow  ?”  and  being  answered  in  the  affirmative  by 
his  cup-bearer,  he  drew  his  chin  within  his  impregna- 
ble citadel  of  starched  muslin,  and  again  gave  up  his 
attention  to  his  Bechamelle. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


277 


The  first  course  was  still  removing,  when  the  at- 
tention of  the  whole  company  was  attracted  to  the 
windows  by  a curious  sort  of  vehicle — a chaise-marine, 
covered  with  a canvas*  awming,  gaudily  painted  writh 
dramatic  trophies,  cups,  daggers  and  masks,  sur- 
mounted with  a scarlet  flag,  and  drawn  by  four  horses, 
with  bells  and  showy  harness,  driven  by  two  boys,  in 
English  wagoners’  frocks,  and  straw  hats  with  green 
ribbons,  resembling  the  carter’s,  formerly  produced  on 
the  stage  in  “ Love  in  a Village  ” 

“ Good  heavens !”  exclaimed  the  startled,  and  there- 
fore delighted,  Lady  Dunore,  “ what  is  that  ?” 

Everybody  rose  from  their  seats,  and  Mr.  Daly  ob- 
served : 

“ That ! that’s  Lord  Rosbrin’s  thespian  car,  as  he 
calls  it,  which  he  brings  everywhere  with  him  in  Ire- 
land, and  which  is  freighted  with  theatrical  para- 
phernalia.” 

“ Is  he  so  stage-struck  as  that  ?”  asked  Lady  Du- 
nore of  her  uncle. 

u He  asserts  that  he  is  so,  upon  political  and  na- 
tional principles.  Haven’t  you  heard  of  his  new  sys- 
tem of  civilizing  Ireland,  by  establishing  dramatic 
encampments,  and  opening  private  theatres  in  the 
remote  counties,  as  we  found  schools,  drain  bogs,  or 
cut  roads  through  the  mountains  for  the  public 
good  ?” 

“ Do  you  know  that  I think  his  scheme  excellent,” 
said  Lady  Dunore,  who,  like  the  maitresse  du  tripot 
of  Scarron,  “ aimoit  la  comedie  plus  que  sermon  ou 
vepres u and  I promise  you  he  shall  have  my  hearty 
concurrence.  I will  have  one  of  the  turrets  turned 
into  a theatre  immediately.” 


278 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


A chariot  and  four,  with  out-riders,  now  passed  the 
windows. 

“ Here  is  Rosbrin  himself,”  said  Mr.  Daly ; and  at 
Lady  Dunore’s  desire  he  went  forth  to  receive  his 
grandnephew.  Lord  Rosbrin  soon  appeared,  follow- 
ing his  venerable  kinsman,  on  whose  countenance 
a good-humored  ridicule  was  visibly  marked.  His 
lordship  had  made  his  toilette  at  the  last  stage,  and 
presented  himself  to  the  delighted  and  astonished 
eyes  of  the  Crawley  ladies,  in  the  singular  and  elegant 
costume  of  an  Austrian  General : his  belt,  studded 
with  mock  stones,  his  embroidered  pelisse,  his  yellow 
boots  and  waving  plumage,  produced  all  the  sensa- 
tion he  expected,  on  those  who  had  never  seen  him 
before,  and  even  on  those  who  had.  After  a mo- 
ment’s pause,  he  advanced ; and  having  paid  his 
respects  to  Lady  Dunore  with  a theatrical  air,  he 
turned  alternately  to  Lord  Frederick  and  Mr.  Hene- 
age,  giving  a hand  to  each,  with  “ Great  Glamis ! 
Worthy  Cayrdor !”  then  bowing  round  the  table, 
solemnly  pronounced — “Now  good  digestion  wait  on 
appetite,  and  health  on  both  !”  and  took  his  place  by 
his  fair  hostess  and  cousin. 

“ You  seem  out  of  spirits,  Rosbrin,”  said  Lady  Du- 
nore,  observing  the  short  incoherent  answers  he  gave 
to  some  questions  put  to  him  by  some  of  the  company. 

“ I care  not  for  my  spirits,”  he  answered  in  the 
words  of  Celia,  “ if  my  legs  were  not  weary.  But  I 
pray  you  bear  with  me,  gentle  coz.” 

“ Bear  with  you ! Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?” 
asked  Mr.  Daly. 

“Nay,  mine  uncle  Clarence,  nothing  of  moment; 
but  I have  been  fagging  to  death  to  get  my  theatre 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


279 


up  at  Kilrosbrin  against  November.  We  open  with 
Macbeth;  an  amazing  strong  cast;  great  tragedy 
forces.  I mean  to  play  Lady  Macbeth  myself.  Mrs. 
Siddons  is  to  lend  me  her  old  point,  the  finest,  the 
only  original  point  in  the  world  : were  it  mine,  I 
would  not  exchange  it  for  ‘ one  entire  and  perfect 
chrysolite.’  Apropos  of  the  Siddons’  dynasty.  I dined 
in  private  with  Kemble  the  other  day : mark  me, 
‘ good  man  delver  you  will  hear  of  an  event  in  the 
dramatic  world  will  1 scatter  wild  amazement  round.' 
Let  Drury  look  to  it : there's  1 something  rotten  in 
the  state  of  Denmark.’  I shall  allude  to  it  in  my 
opening  prologue.” 

“ By-the-bye,  I am  enchanted  with  your  theatrical 
scheme,  Rosbrin”  (11),  said  his  fair  cousin,  “ and  mean 
to  visit  you  as  soon  as  you  open  the  campaign.” 

“ ‘ That  will  be  ere  set  of  sun,’  ” replied  Lord  Ros- 
brin, “ that  is,  I mean  by  November,  in  order  to  fol- 
low close  upon  the  Kilkenny  plays.  Their  ‘ funeral 
baked  meats  will  coldly  furnish  forth  our  marriage 
feast ;’  for  some  of  their  principal  performers  will  join 
us  ; and  the  Lord  and  Lady  Lieutenant,  with  all  their 
suite,  will  attend  1 on  our  solemnities :’  ay,  4 we’ll 
make  the  welkin  dance;’  we’ll  ‘ raise  the  night  owl  in 
a catch,  shall  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver.’  ” 

“ Out  of  one  waver  !”  repeated  Darby  Crawley, 
who  looked  up  with  great  deference  to  the  rank  of 
Lord  Rosbrin,  though  quite  at  a loss  to  discover 
whether  his  strange  phraseology  was  supreme  fashion, 
or  absolute  nonsense. 

“ But  you  don’t  really  mean  that  ?”  said  Lord 
Frederick,  in  a tone  of  vexation.  “ You  don’t  abso- 


280 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


lutely  mean  that  the  castle  people  are  coming  to  yon 
in  November  ?” 

“ ‘ Take  this  from  this,’  ” said  Lord  Rosbrin,  point- 
ing  to  his  head  and  shoulders,  “ if  this  be  otherwise  : 
’tis  truth,  ‘if  truth  were  ever  pregnant  made  by  cir- 
cumstance.’ ” 

“ What ! do  you  really  mean  that  they  come  down 
in  their  public  capacity,  with  little  pages  and  lank 
aid-de-camps,  busy  chamberlains  and  sinecure  comp- 
trollers, fat  battle-axes  and  battered  kettle-drums,  with 
the  eternal  ‘ God  Save  the  King,’  and  ‘ Patrick’s  Day,’ 
and  the  whole  set  out  of  the  ca-astle  ?” 

“All,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  in  a tone  of  absence,  and 
going  over  in  his  mind  the  business  of  the  stage  for 
the  performance  of  Henry  the  Fourth ; “ all — sheriff, 
vintner,  chamberlains,  drawers,  two  carriers,  travel- 
lers, and  attendants,  with  the  sign  of  the  Boar’s  Head 
in  Eastcheap.” 

“ The  Lord  bless  us !”  exclaimed  old  Crawdey,  much 
astonished  at  this  travelling  equipage;  while  Mr.  Pot- 
tinger,  dropping  his  knife  and  fork,  and  rubbing  his 
hands,  was  about  to  set  both  gentlemen  right,  by  de 
scribing  the  real  arrangements  of  the  viceregal  tour, 
as  they  occurred  to  his  memoiy,  when  he  was  stopped 
short  by  Lady  Dunore  addressing  Lord  Frederick  : 

“ By-the-bye,  Lord  Frederick,  how  does  Lady  B. 
get  on  in  her  new  office?  Doesn’t  it  bore  her  to 
death  that  kind  of  representation  ? It  must  be  en- 
tirely out  of  her  way,  poor  dear  !” 

“ Why,  it  does,  I believe,  taut  soit  peu ; but,  upon 
the  whole,  she  gets  on  pretty  fairly.  For  ten  months 
in  the  year  she  lives  at  that  bel  respiro , the  Phaynix, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


281 


where  she  rears  little  pigs,  sows  mignionette  seed, 
talks  of  her  liver,  and  drinks  chamomile  tea.” 

“ Yes,  yes.  I know  all  her  fagons  a Vordmaire  well 
enough.  But  I mean  as  Lady  Lieutenant ! Is  not 
that  the  Irish  phrase  for  your  viceroy’s  wife  ? How 
does  she  manage  ?” 

“ Oh ! as  she  can ; like  the  rest  of  them,  I believe  : 
ask  my  Potty;  he  is  the  law  and  the  prophets  on 
these  points ; she  cuts  when  she  can,  keeps  clear  of 
the  Kalmucks  (except  on  the  regular  Ko-tou  days, 
when  the  yellow  skreen  is  exhibited),  and  lives  toute 
comme  une  autre? 

Mr.  Pottinger  opened  his  eyes.  This  was  flat 
profanation  of  a subject  sacred  to  his  imagination; 
and  he  would  have  opened  his  mouth,  but  that  Lady 
Dunore  went  on,  while  her  careless  manner  of  talking 
of  the  lady  lieutenant  and  the  castle  astonished,  and 
almost  mortified  the  Crawley  Mandarins  as  much  as 
Mr.  Pottinger. 

“ But  then,  you  know,  Lord  Frederick,”  continued 
the  marchioness,  “ poor  dear  Lady  B.  is  such  a dowa- 
ger dowdy,  and  so  very  little  en  evidence  in  the 
world : besides,  she  dresses  so  ill.  I used  to  think 
she  spoiled  the  look  of  my  opera  supper ; didn’t  you, 
Georgy,  love  ?” 

“Her  Excellency,”  said  Mr.  Pottinger,  solemnly, 
and  endeavoring  to  get  in  a word,  “ goes  through  the 
necessary  forms  of  drawing-rooms  and  birthdays 
with  peculiar  grace  and  dignity ; and ” 

“ And  kisses  all  the  Mrs.  Maguffins  and  Mrs. 
O’Gallaghers,  a toute  outrance ,”  interrupted  Lord 
Frederick.  “ Then  she  simpers,  bobs  under  a canopy, 
and  she  walks  in  and  walks  out  to  ‘ God  Save  the 


282 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


King,’  with  a white  wand,  and  an  usher  at  the  end  of 

it;  then  struts  forth  Lord  B- , bored  to  death 

(with  1 son  nez  en  Vair ,’  and  his  heart  under  the  ribs 
of  his  south-downs),  followed  by  Grizzle,  Noodle, 
Doodle,  Foodie,  and  1 others;’  while  we  English  all 
walk  after,  like  ‘ chickens,  come  cluck,’ — to  slow 
music,  by  Jove ! Only  think  of  my  moving  to  slow 
music,  voyez  vous , like  a mute  in  a play  ! But  the  fun 
of  all  fun  is  my  Potty’s  face  upon  these  high  solemni- 
ties. Ha!  ha!  ha!” 

Here  the  image  of  the  court,  of  which  he  was  so 
distinguished  a member,  became  too  ludicrous  for  the 
risible  faculties  of  the  noble  aid-de-camp,  and  amidst 
bursts  of  hearty  laughter,  in  which  he  was  joined  by 
such  members  of  the  company  as  did  not  consider  the 
Irish  court  to  be  the  Tien  Sing,  the  “ heavenly  spot,” 
he  continued  to  repeat,  “ moving  to  slow  music,  by 
Jove  ! that’s  the  fun !” 

The  lengthening  faces  of  the  Crawleys  and  Mr, 
Pottinger  induced  Mr.  Daly  to  call  to  order;  and 
Lady  Dunore,  taking  the  hint,  arose,  and  left  the 
gentlemen  to  Lord  Frederick’s  further  details  of  the 
celestial  empire.  She  conducted  the  ladies  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  then  left  them,  desiring  Miss 
Crawley  to  be  her  lady  lieutenant,  and  call  for  coffee 
when  they  wished  it.  The  two  friends  ascended  the 
stairs  together,  on  their  way  to  their  respective 
dressing-rooms,  where  each  was  in  the  habit  of  taking 
a siesta  between  dinner  and  tea.  Lady  Georgiana 
observed,  in  her  fondling  way  : 

“ These  people  bore  you  to  death,  sweet  love.” 

“ No,  dearest,”  yawned  Lady  Dunore. 

“But,”  continued  Lady  Georgiana,  yawning  in 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


283 


turn,  “ they  are  very  good  sort  of  people,  I dare  say, 
ma  belle .” 

“Yes,  I dare  say  they  are,  mignonne;  hut  they 
need  not  sit  in  a circle  for  all  that.  You  have  no 
idea  the  effect  a circle  has  on  me,  Georgy,  love, — it 
kills  me.” 

At  this  moment,  her  own  woman  passing,  she  said  : 
“ Do  let  some  of  the  footmen  go  into  the  drawing- 
room, and  place  the  chairs  back  to  back ; and  take 
the  tables  and  things  from  the  walls,  and  throw  all 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  send  coffee  to  Lady 
Georgiana’s  dressing-room,  and  call  me  when  the 
gentlemen  come  out.” 

“By,  by,  dearest,”  said  Lady  Georgiana,  kissing 
first  one  cheek,  and  then  the  other. 

“ Day,  day,  love,”  said  the  marchioness,  pressing 
her  lips  to  her  friend’s  fair  forehead ; and  she  added, 
“ I’ll  try  and  doze  away  the  Crawley  stupor,  till  the 
men  come  out.” 

More  than  an  hour  elapsed  before  the  marchioness 
joined  her  guests : tea  was  served  as  she  entered. 
Lord  Frederick,  Mr.  Daly,  Lady  Georgiana,  occu- 
pied an  ottoman  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace ; and  the 
whole  race  of  Crawley  formed  from  that  point  a semi- 
circle, which  reached  to  the  other.  The  marchioness 
started  back,  and  then  raised  a despondiug  look ; but 
took  the  seat  offered  her  by  Mr.  Pottinger.  A dead 
silence  ensued,  interrupted  first  by  the  young  coun- 
sellor, who  had  been  upon  some  political  subject  when 
the  lady  entered  the  room,  which  he  again  resumed. 
His  brothers,  meantime,  remained  silent  and  stupified ; 
the  high  sheriff  not  venturing  a'  single  observation, 
and  the  major  becoming  absolutely  confounded,  after 


284 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


having  made  an  unsuccessful  effort  at  wigwams  and 
bivouacs,  “the  Peninsula,”  and  “ the  Raygent’s  levy.” 
“ There,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  raising  his  glass  to 
Lady  Dun  ore’s  face,  “there’s  a bored  marchioness; 
this  is  a coup  de  grace : let  her  survive  it  if  she  can. 
Mr.  Po — tinger,”  he  exclaimed  aloud,  “ will  you  sing 
a comical  song,  or  tell  a story,  my  Potty — — ” 

“That  antique  song,”  interrupted  Lord  Rosbrin, 
“ we  had  last  night,  1 Music  Hath  Charms,’  Mr.  Pot- 
tinger ; or  give  us  ‘ Let  us  the  Cannikin  Clink,’  or 
‘ Troll  us  a Catch;’  ” and  he  ran  over  the  keys  of  the 
piano-forte  as  he  spoke.  At  the  word  music,  Mrs. 
Sergeant,  and  the  four  Miss  Sergeant  Crawleys,  were 
thrown  into  a state  of  gentle  agitation.  Mrs.  Craw- 
ley’s life  had  been  passed  in  running  about  with  her 
accomplished  daughters,  from  one  musical  system- 
monger  to  another ; and  the  many  hours  a day  they 
practised,  the  various  methods  they  had  adopted,  the 
public  exhibitions  in  which  they  had  assisted,  and  the 
effect  they  had  produced  at  Lady  Kilgobbin's  parties, 
were  the  eternal  themes  of  her  conversation.  Al- 
though she  had  not  before  opened  her  lips,  (overawed 
by  the  fashionable  nonchalance  of  the  two  great 
ladies,)  yet  now,  animated  by  maternal  vanity,  she 
ventured  to  observe  that  “music  was  a charming 
talent,”  inquired  “ who  made  the  piano-forte  that 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,”  and  asked  if  it  “was 
in  tune.”  The  hint  was  immediately  taken  by  the 
dowager  Miss  Crawley,  always  on  the  alert  to  puff 
off  the  family  acquirements ; and  it  followed,  of  course, 
that  the  Misses  Crawley  were  asked  to  perform,  at 
the  sly  suggestion  from  their  aunt,  that  “ they  were 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


285 


charming  musicians,  taught  in  Dublin,  and  finished 
at  Bath !” 

“ Oh  then,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  starting  up,  “ for 
heaven’s  sake,  let  us  have  music,  let  us  have  any- 
thing;” and  scattering  about  the  chairs  from  whence 
the  Crawleys,  on  the  impulsion  given  by  this  main- 
spring of  all  motion,  had  risen,  she  begged  the  young 
ladies  would  try  something.  The  young  ladies,  un- 
prepared, indeed,  but  never  unwilling  to  exhibit,  went 
to  the  instrument ; while  Lord  Rosbrin,  turning  to 
Darby  Crawley,  asked  him  from  the  Tempest,  “ did 
you  ever  hear  the  tune  of  our  catch  played  by  the 
picture  of  nobody  ?” 

“ Why,  then,  I can’t  charge  my  memory  that  I ever 
did,”  replied  old  Crawley  gravely. 

“ Music,”  continued  Lord  Rosbrin,  taking  hold  of 
Mr.  Crawley’s  button,  “ was  ordained  (wasn’t  it  ?)  to 
refresh  the  mind  of  man  after  his  studies.” 

“To  be  sure  it  was,  my  lord,”  replied  Crawley, 
flattered  at  this  reference;  “and  when  my  son  Con- 
way was  going  through  his  college  course,  he  was  in- 
genuous at  the  flute,  being  always  given  to  sedentary 
habits.” 

“ Here  then  well  sit,  and  let  the  sound  of  music 
come  upon  our  ears,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin;  and  he 
handed  Mr.  Crawley  a chair. 

Meanwhile  the  four  Miss  Crawleys  laid  by  their 
gloves  and  fans,  and  arranged  themselves  round  the 
instrument.  Two  sat  down  to  the  piano-forte ; one 
stood  on  the  right  of  the  keys  to  get  in  one  hand  to 
play  the  extreme  treble,  according  to  a new  system 
of  playing  with  five  hands  upon  one  piano-forte  ; and 
the  other  two  prepared  their  voices  by  gentle  hems ! 


286 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


to  sing  a duet  to  this  multifarious  accompaniment. 
They  now  began  “Away  with  Melancholy,”  which 
they  sang  with  such  sad  faces  and  tuneless  voices, 
that  it  made  every  one  melancholy  to  hear  them ; until 
the  alto  Miss  Crawley,  who  had  never  before  played 
out  of  her  musical  stocks,  went  rambling  with  her 
emancipated  hand  over  the  instrument,  like  a colt  re- 
leased from  harness,  to  the  utter  confusion  of  her 
sisters,  vocal  and  instrumental ; and  to  the  consterna- 
tion and  agony  of  her  mother  and  aunt,  she  suddenly 
burst  into  tears,  and  cried  out  that  “ she  could  not 
play  without  her  cheiroplast.” 

Lady  Dunore,  equally  delighted  with  tears  and 
laughter,  exclaimed : 

“ Poor  little  thing ! what  is  the  matter  ? what  is 
her  cheiroplast  ? Can  my  maid  make  it  ? There  is 
nobody  so  ingenious  as  Dorette : what  is  it  like  ?” 

Miss  Crawley  endeavored  to  explain  wrhat  a chei- 
roplast was ; for  Mrs.  Sergeant  was  utterly  con- 
founded at  seeing  the  labor  of  years  thus  overthrown 
in  a moment,  and  in  such  a moment.  The  young 
ladies  now  rose,  pulling  up  their  gloves,  and  seizing 
their  fans  in  becoming  emotion,  while  Mr.  Crawley, 
to  relieve  the  general  confusion  of  the  family,  took 
fat  Miss  Leslie  by  the  hand,  and  said : 

“ Come,  Miss  Leslie,  honey,  give  us  a touch  on  the 
piano;  a song  or  a country  dance  in  your  own 
sprightly  way.  She  has  a sweet  little  voice,  I give 
you  my  honor,  Lord  Rosbrin,  and  would  rather  hear 
her  than  all  the  bravado  singing  and  Italian  haber- 
dashery in  the  world.  Kate,  my  dear,  this  is  the 
Earl  of  Rosbrin.” 

“ Kate,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  taking  her  hand  on 


FLORENCE  MACARTJIY, 


2S7 


this  presentation,  and  instantly  transformed  into 
Petruchio,  “ the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom,  Kate 
of  Kate  Hall,  my  super-  dainty  Kate,  for  dainties  are 
all  cates;  and  therefore,  Kate,  take  this  from  me, 
Kate  of  my  consolation ;”  and  he  kissed  her  hand  as 
he  placed  her  at  the  piano ; while  Kate  of  Kate  Hall, 
blushing  more  from  triumph  than  shame,  drew  up 
her  frock  upon  her  naked  shoulders,  and  without 
further  preface  began  to  sing  “ My  Henry  is  Gone.” 
Her  song  ended,  was  encored  by  Lord  Rosbrin,  ap- 
plauded by  Lady  Dunore,  bravoed  by  Lord  Frederick, 
and  epilogued  by  Darby  Crawley,  who,  with  a hu- 
morous wink  at  the  gentlemen,  said  : 

“ The  devil  is  in  them  Henry s ! I never  knew  one 
of  them  would  stay  with  a girl  yet.” 

To  Lady  Dunore’s  horror  the  Crawleys  were  now 
all  returning  to  their  chairs  and  their  circle,  when,  to 
her  infinite  joy,  their  carriages  were  announced,  and 
she  bowed  them  out  with  as  much  pleasure  as  she 
had  bowed  them  in ; observing  to  Miss  Crawley,  as 
she  came  up  to  wish  her  good  night : 

“ When  you  get  rid  of  your  friends,  remember 
your  promise ; and  pray  get  rid  of  them  soon.” 

She  then  threw  herself  on  a cushion  at  Lady  Geor- 
giana’s  feet,  and  laying  her  head  on  her  lap,  uttered 
a pious  “ Thank  Heaven  !” 

“ Oh!  don’t  think  you  are  quitte pour  la peur”  said 
Lord  Frederick.  “ The  Crawleys  are  yours  an  revoir . 
In  the  meantime  let  us  call  for  the  brag  table.” 

Cards  were  now  brought  in ; and  in  the  vicissitudes 
of  a game,  in  which  Mr.  Daly  and  Lord  Frederick 
played  desperately  high,  their  variable  hostess  forgot 


288 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  Crawleye  (dull  and  clever),  and  their  spell-bound  % 
circle,  which,  for  want  of  some  greater  source  of  an- 
noyance, had  become  the  phantom  of  her  easily  ex- 
citable imagination. 


CHAPTER  X. 


“ Citizens  ! your  voices !” — Shakspeare. 

Centuries  of  cruelties  and  injustice — of  misrule  and 
military  violence — had  not  subdued  the  spirit  of  the 
people  of  Ireland,  a spirit  which  might  be  said  to  be- 
long almost  to  their  temperament ; and  other  means 
were  resorted  to  in  order  to  quench  a fire  which  di- 
rect oppression  could  not  extinguish.  Their  parlia 
ment,  filled  with  men  selected  by  the  English  govern- 
ment, and  separated  m feelings  and  in  interests  from 
the  people  it  affected  to  represent,  set  the  country  up 
to  sale,  and  concluded  their  “ bargain”  on  the  ruin  and 
degradation  of  the  land. 

By  this  act  of  political  suicide,  which  banished  at 
a blow  the  entire  rank,  illumination,  and  wealth  of 
the  kingdom,  the  political  and  legislative  interests  of 
the  people  were  intrusted  to  a foreign  and  a rival 
senate  ; while  one  hundred  Irishmen,  the  representa- 
tives for  the  most  part  of  the  English  ministry,  and 
of  the  dominant  religious  faction,  were  added  to  the 
mass  of  corruption  already  festering  in  their  unre- 
formed British  parliament. 

Among  what  are  vulgarly  called  the  rotten  boroughs 
of  Ireland,  Glannacrime  stood  conspicuous  for  its  cor- 
ruption and  servility  to  the  dominant  power  of  the 
day,  whatever  that;  power  might  be.  Mr.  Crawley 


290 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


assured  Lady  Dunore  that  the  corporation  was  at  her 
devotion,  and  that  any  effort  on  her  part  would  be  but 
a work  of  supererogation.  This  assurance,  so  often 
reiterated,  had  wholly  lulled  the  interest  and  solici- 
tude which  the  chance  of  a strongly  contested  elec- 
tion could  alone  have  maintained  alive  in  her  capri- 
cious mind ; and  in  a few  days,  the  event  would  have 
become  wholly  indifferent  to  her,  if  not  quite  obliter- 
ated from  her  memory,  but  for  the  open  and  candid 
declaration  of  Mr.  Daly,  that  whatever  interest  he 
possessed,  or  could  make  in  Glannacrime,  should  be 
exerted  against  his  grandnephew,  and  in  favor  of 
Mr.  O’Mahouy. 

This  determination,  far  from  annoying  Lady  Dunore, 
revived  all  her  faded  electioneering  ambition;  she 
found  the  unbiased  independent  intentions  of  her 
uncle  as  he  stood  opposed  to  his  own  kinsman,  and  in 
favor  of  a stranger  whom  he  had  never  seen,  new, 
extraordinary,  and  therefore  charming ; and  she  even 
proposed  that  they  should  both  set  fortH  in  the  same 
barouche  to  canvass  on  their  different  sides.  To  this 
Mr,  Daly  objected,  as  giving  a ludicrous  air  to  the 
business ; but  when  he  mentioned  that  he  should  ride 
over  to  Glannacrime  for  the  purpose  of  trying  his 
interest,  Lady  Dunore  then  ordered  her  carriage  with 
the  same  intention ; and  while  he  took  one  road  on 
horseback,  she,  attended  by  Lady  Georgiana  and  the 
two  Mr.  Crawleys,  took  the  other  in  an  open  ba- 
rouche. 

With  the  successful  electioneering  talents  of  the 
celebrated  and  lovely  Duchess  of  D.  full  in  her  ima- 
gination, (for  she  had  read  an  account  of  the  famous 
Westminster  election  in  an  old  magazine  on  the  night 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


291 


before,)  Lady  Dunore,  all  life,  spirit,  and  expectation, 
performed  the  first  three  miles  of  her  journey  with  a 
restless  and  eager  impatience  to  commence  her  can- 
vass : and  insisted  that  she  should  stop  at  the  first 
freeholder’s  residence  of  whose  vote  there  was  any 
doubt. 

uWe  are  now,”  said  young  Crawley,  with  a signi- 
ficant look  at  his  father,  11  within  a few  paces  of  the 
residence  of  a genuine  Irish  freeholder,  who  is  as  yet 
undetermined  between  the  contending  interests  of 
Fitzadelm  and  O’Mahony.  Shall  I pull  the  check- 
string, Lady  Dunore  ?” 

“ Oh,  by  ail  means  in  the  world,”  said  the  marchio- 
ness eagerly,  and  arranging  the  becoming  gossamer 
shade  of  her  Brussels  lace  veil,  while  she  asked  Lady 
Georgiana,  “ am  I blue,  Georgy,  love,  perfectly  blue, 
with  this  northeast  blast  ?” 

“ On  the  contrary,  sweet  love,”  replied  Georgy, 
love,  drawing  down  her  own  veil,  never  wholly  raised 
in  broad  daylight,  “ you  are  absolutely  petrie  de  lis  ct 
! de  roses” 

The  coachman  was  now  ordered  to  turn  to  the  left, 
while  young  Crawley  observed : 

“ It  is  a narrow  rough  road  ; but  I think  your  lady- 
ship’s springs  are  equal  to  it.” 

“ I’ll  venture  my  springs,”  returned  Lady  Dunore, 

; gayly  : “ never  mind  the  springs,  Mr.  Conway.” 

The  barouche  now  wound  along  the  rutted  road  of 
: a little  valley.  On  either  side,  peat  mixed  with  rushes 
seemed  the  only  produce  of  a soil  almost  beyond  the 
I reach  of  cultivation.  The  few  patches  of  grass  which 
were  discernible  were  of  a brown  and  stunted  growth. 
As  the  carriage  came  in  front  of  a small  dunghill, 


292 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


which  usually  forms  the  first  vallum  to  the  residence 
of  an  Irish  peasant,  Mr.  Crawley  pulled  the  check- 
string. A hut  or  cabin  rose  behind  in  all  the  irregu- 
larity of  architecture  which  the  most  extravagant 
lover  of  the  picturesque  could  desire.  The  cabin  it- 
self was  built  of  rounded  stones,  which,  like  the  edifice 
in  the  Fairy  Queen,  were 

“ Cunningly,  and  without  mortar  laid.” 

Tile  door  was  removed  from  the  doorcase,  and  laid 
crossways,  to  keep  in  the  children  and  pigs ; on  each 
side  were  two  holes,  both  partially  stopped  up,  the 
one  with  an  old  hat,  the  other  wuth  straw.  Another 
aperture  in  the  roof,  near  the  gable  end,  was  sur- 
mounted by  a broken  pitcher,  being  a refinement  upon 
the  mere  hole  in  the  roof,  and  intended  to  exhibit  an 
improvement  little  known  in  the  peasant  architecture 
of  Ireland — -a  chimney.  The  roof  of  this  curious,  but 
not  singular  building,  luxuriated  in  a variety  of  vege- 
tation : being  composed  of  potato-stalks  and  grass 
sods,  it  sent  forth  vigorous  shoots,  and  bloomed  amidst 
the  surrounding  sterility. 

“ What  is  this  ? Why  do  we  stop  here  ? Can’t 
we  proceed  ?”  asked  Lady  Dunore,  impatiently. 

“ Certainly,”  said  young  Crawley,  “ but  your  lady- 
ship would,  of  course,  like  to  see  and  speak  to  the 
master  of  this  freehold.” 

“ Freehold!’  repeated  Lady  Dunore  faintly,  and 
holding  her  eau  tie  luce  to  her  nose,  as  the  midday 
sun  dre  w up  the  putrescent  vapor  of  a flax  pit ; and 
as  every  gush  of  smoke  which  burst  from  the  hut, 
and  rolled  over  the  open  carriage,  came  fraught  with 
the  stench  of  the  cabin’s  pestilential  atmosphere. 
Two  little  half-naked  and  bloated  children,  who  were 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT, 


293 


plucking  up  some  dead  brambles  for  firing,  raised 
tbeir  eyes  in  stupid  wonder  on  the  carriage,  and  then 
ran  into  the  cabin,  with  looks  of  consternation.  The 
next  moment  they  returned  with  a group,  consisting 
of  two  smaller  children,  followed  by  a man  and 
woman,  the  father  and  mother  of  this  ill-thriven  brood. 
The  man,  like  the  Southern  peasantry  of  Ireland, 
many  of  whom  are  descended  from  a Spanish  colony, 
was  dark,  meagre,  and  of  a countenance  marked  by 
strong  lineaments.  His  clothes  were  a patchwork  of 
every  color.  His  worn-out  brogues  were  stuffed  with 
straw.  His  beard  half  an  inch  in  length ; his  long 
black  hair,  clotted  and  overshadowing  his  eyes,  indi- 
cated the  neglect  of  hopeless  and  irremediable  po- 
verty. The  woman,  who  came  forward  wiping  her 
mouth  (for  they  had  been  at  their  customary  meal  of 
potatoes  and  salt),  inquired  in  a whining  voice  and 
broken  English,  “ what  was  their  honors’  will  ?” 

Barefooted  and  barelegged,  her  eyes  bleared  with 
smoke,  her  form  attenuated  by  insufficient  diet,  her 
complexion  bronzed  by  exposure  to  the  inclemencies 
of  the  weather,  her  dress  in  shreds,  she  still  had  a 
cheerfulness  of  manner  that  seemed  ill-assorted  to  her 
situation. 

Such,  in  general,  is  the  family,  and  such  the  dwell- 
ing of  the  Irish  forty-shilling  freeholder.  Old  Craw- 
ley, who  was  perfectly  aware  of  his  son’s  manoeuvre, 
and  who  had  sat  silently  enjoying  the  disappointment, 
surprise,  and  disgust  of  his  patroness,  now  exclaimed 
in  the  usual  tone  of  familiarity  with  which  he  ad- 
dressed the  lower  orders,  from  whom,  in  manner  and 
language,  he  was  so  little  removed : 

“ Morrow,  Denis  Regan  ; how  is  it  with  you,  man?” 


294 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


9 

“ Musha ! long  life  to  your  honor,  I’m  brave  and 
hearty,  sir;  and  hope  you’re  well,  Mr.  Crawley,  dear.” 

“And  how  is  the  woman  that  owns  yon,  Denis? 
How  are  you,  Judy?” 

Judy  dropped  a courtesy  to  the  ground.  “ Well,  I 
thank  your  honor’s  asking,  praise  to  God,  amen,  and 
am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  beautiful,  Mr.  Crawley, 
sir.” 

“We  are  come  for  your  vote  and  interest,  Denis, 
for  the  approaching  election ; and  while  I think  of  it, 
1 have  ordered  ‘ bog  leave’  for  you  from  the  bailiff.” 

“ Och,  to  be  sure,  and  why  wouldn’t  you  have  it, 
sir,  to  be  sure,  only  Mr.  O’Mahony,  sir.”  y 

“And  here’s  Lady  Dunore  come  to  solicit  your 
vote  in  favor  of  her  son,  Lord  Fitzadelm,”  interrupted 
old  Crawley. 

“ See  that,  now  ! and  shall  have  it,  sir,  if  it  was 
worth  thousands,  any  friend  of  your  honor’s  or  the 
young  counsellor’s,  sir,  long  life  to  yez ; and  hopes  my 
lady  will  spake  for  us  to  your  honor,  sir,  about  the 
trifle  of  rint,  and  times  going  hard.” 

A dead  silence  now  ensued,  the  Crawleys  pur- 
posely making  an  opening  for  Lady  Dunore  to  exert 
that  electioneering  talent,  of  which  she  had  so  fre- 
quently boasted  during  the  ride ; but,  with  her  hand- 
kerchief stuffed  in  her  mouth,  and  her  look  divided 
between  curiosity  and  disgust,  she  remained  sunk  in 
the  back  of  the  carriage. 

“Would  your  ladyship  wish  to  alight?”  asked 
young  Crawley. 

“ Alight ! why  the  road  is  ankle  deep.  Pray  let  us 
get  out  of  this  shocking  spot,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  with 
a countenance  bespeaking  nausea. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


295 


“ I am  afraid,  however,  your  ladyship  must  alight, 
for  this  road  is  terminated  by  a bog ; and  there  will 
be  some  difficulty,  if  not  danger,  in  turning  the  car- 
riage in  this  narrow  spot.” 

“ Good  God ! how  could  you  bring  us  into  such  a 
scrape,  Mr.  Conway  Crawley  ?”  asked  Lady  Dunore, 
angrily. 

“ Madam,”  he  replied,  in  affected  consternation,  “ I 
hope  I did  not  mistake  your  ladyship’s  order.  I 
thought  it  was  your  ladyship’s  wish  to  stop  at  the 

door  of  the  first  freeholder,  who ” 

“ Yes,  yes,  but  I could  not  for  a moment  suppose 
that  this  wretched  place,  these  wretched  persons — in 
short,  if  I stay  a moment  here,  I shall  catch  a typhus 
fever,  or  be  suffocated  by  the  stench.  Thompson, 
why  don’t  you  turn  instantly  ? Do  you  hear  me  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  lady,  I’ll  try;  but  this  is  a bad  bit  of 
ground  to  turn  in.” 

Aware,  from  experience,  that  his  lady’s  orders  were 
indisputable,  however  difficult  they  might  be  in  exe- 
cution, Thompson  endeavored  to  turn ; but  the 
horses,  frightened  by  the  sudden  flutter  and  flight  of 
a flock  of  geese,  near  the  cabin  door,  became  quite 
unmanageable,  resisted  rein  and  whip,  and  ran  off 
with  a velocity  neither  to  be  checked  nor  overtaken. 
The  Regan  family  set  up  the  usual  Irish  cry,  “ Millia 
murther  wdiile  young  Crawley,  coolly  looking  after 
the  flying  vehicle,  indulged  in  a smile,  which  there 
was  no  one  to  witness.  Meantime,  the  coachman, 
with  the  utmost  skill  and  effort,  could  not  restrain 
the  horses’  speed,  and  every  moment  threatened  de- 
struction to  the  springs  and  wheels  of  the  carriage, 
and  fracture  or  dislocation  to  the  limbs  of  its  occu- 


296 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


pants  ; when  a peasant,  who  was  clamping  turf  in  the 
bog,  sprang  forward,  seized  the  reins  of  the  leaders, 
and,  with  no  less  skill  than  strength,  not  only  suc- 
ceeded in  stopping  the  horses,  but  assisted  the  coach- 
man in  turning  the  carriage. 

Lady  Dunore  and  Lady  Georgiana,  recovered  from 
their  fright,  were  loud  in  exclamations  of  gratitude 
and  admiration  to  their  deliverer,  who  had  refused 
their  proffered  liberality,  and  who,  in  answer  to  their 
inquiries  as  to  his  name,  replied  coldly,  “ Plaze  your 
honor,  my  lady,  it’s  but  a bad  name.  I’m  Padreen 
Gar,  madam,  the  boy  that  welcomed  your  ladyship 
home  when  we  came  down  from  the  mountains  to  * 
meet  yez.” 

“ It’s  by  no  means  a bad  name,”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
“and  I shall  take  care  not  to  forget  it,  Mr.  Gore.” 

The  Crawleys  smiled  significantly ; and  Lady  Du- 
nore, offended  by  looks  which  had  not  escaped  her, 
ordered  her  coachman  to  drive  back  to  Dunore,  con- 
versed in  Italian  with  Lady  Georgiana  the  whole  way, 
preserving  a dignified  silence  towards  the  Messieurs 
Crawley.  Thus  placed  under  the  ban  of  her  tempo- 
rary displeasure,  they  received  all  its  symptoms  with 
the  enduring  complacency  of  persons  whose  patient 
servility  can  abide  the  stormy  brow  of  greatness,  in 
the  certain  expectation  of  the  harvest  of  its  returning 
sunshine. 

A few  days  had  succeeded  to  that  on  which  the  un- 
ruly horses  had  formed  a sort  of  adventure,  in  an  ex- 
istence already  deemed  monotonous  by  the  lady  of 
the  castle.  Lady  Dunore,  who  generally  took  up  an 
opinion  out  of  opposition,  and  supported  it  out  of 
obstinacy,  praising  in  spite,  and  approving  in  malice, 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


297 


had  dwelt,  with  a duration  unusual  to  her  instability 

J 9 

on  the  gallantry  of  Padreen  Gar,  whom  she  persisted 
in  calling  Mr.  Gore. 

Erected  into  a hero,  the  object  of  many  of  Mr. 
Crawley’s  plots  and  fears  now  disputed  even  the  in- 
fluence of  Miss  Crawley  herself,  who,  since  the  de- 
parture of  her  friends,  had  become  a resident  in 
Dunore  Castle ; and  she  still  held  her  precarious 
tenure  by  the  tie  of  adulation,  which  her  sex  rendered 
unsuspicious,  and  her  sectarian  zeal  sanctified.  Lady 
Dunore  now  expressed  her  intention  of  becoming  a 
frequent  visitant  to  a country  which  produced  such  a 
fine  race  of  peasantry  as  Padreen  Gar,  alias  Mr.  Gore  ; 
and  time  and  circumstance  had  not  yet  worn  out  her 
prepossession  (which,  however,  produced  no  benefit 
to  its  object),  when  a letter  reached  her  hands  that 
broke  up  the  spell  of  her  partiality,  while  it  furnished 
new  motive  for  action,  and  for  agitation  to  her  fever- 
ish existence. 

This  letter  was  one  of  those  productions,  so  fre- 
quently circulated  in  Ireland  among  the  timid  and 
credulous,  to  excite  suspicion,  awaken  distrust,  and 
j to  give  occasion  for  efforts  of  coercion  and  resistance 
j which  usually  produce  the  very  events  they  are 
i adopted  to  suppress.  It  was  something  between  a 
threat  and  a warning.  It  talked  of  the  black  flag  of 
rebellion  being  speedily  unfurled,  of  meditated  assas- 
sinations and  intended  massacres,  of  a hatred  to  Eng- 
lish residents  and  Protestant  ascendency  advocates ; 
and  of  a probable  and  immediate  attack  upon  the 
castle  of  Dunore  by  Padreen  Gar’s  boys,  who  were 
to  assemble  for  a moonlight  parade  on  St.  Gobnate’s 
eve,  near  the  holy  well  of  Ballydab,  to  plan  this  siege 


298 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


for  the  following  night.  To  this  was  added,  that 
Padreen  Gar,  accompanied  by  his  boys,  who  were 
concealed  in  the  pits  of  the  bog,  had  intended  to  sur- 
prise her  carriage  on  the  day  of  her  proposed  visit  to 
Glannacrime,  but  were  prevented  by  the  presence  of 
the  two  Crawleys,  and  that  an  artful  rescue  was  sub- 
stituted for  the  meditated  attack. 

To  this  letter  Lady  Dunore  gave  implicit  cre- 
dence, merely  because  she  wished  it  to  be  true.  The 
threatened  danger  relieved  the  torpor  of  her  feelings, 
gave  play  to  her  wild  imagination,  and  afforded 
ample  occupation  to  her  laborious  idleness.  Mr. 
Crawley  and  his  son  were  on  business  with  her  when 
this  letter  arrived  by  the  post,  bearing  the  office  mark 
of  a neighboring  town  : its  contents  were,  of  course, 
instantly  communicated  to  them ; but  instead  of 
urging  her  immediate  departure,  as  they  expected,  it 
furnished  her  with  additional  reasons  for  remaining. 
To  her  expressions  of  horror  at  the  state  of  the  coun- 
try, and  the  ingratitude  of  a people  for  whom  she  had 
roasted  an  ox,  young  Crawley  replied,  that  of  all  this 
he  could  have  informed  her  before,  even  when  her 
predilections  for  Padreen  Gar  ran  highest ; but  that 
he  feared  to  frighten  her  away  from  the  country, 
when  it  was  his  and  his  father’s  wish,  rather  perhaps 
than  her  ladyship’s  interest,  that  she  should  remain 
forever. 

Measures  for  meeting  the  evil  were  now  discussed. 
Secrecy  and  concealment  from  all  the  guests  at  the 
castle  were  strongly  recommended;  and  Lady  Du- 
nore u qui  aimoit  terriblement  les  enigmes ,”  readily 
yielded  her  assent  to  this  necessity.  The  object  of 
the  Messieurs  Crawley  was,  as  they  declared,  that 


FLORENCE  MACAIiTHY. 


299 


Lady  Dunore  should  judge  for  herself  of  the  state  of 
the  country,  and  of  the  people  : for  this  purpose,  the 
band  of  ruffians,  with  the  principal  incendiary,  should 
be  surprised  and  seized  on  the  eve  of  St.  Gobnate, 
and  brought  to  the  castle,  on  their  way  to  Dunore 
gaol. 

To  all  this  Lady  Dunore  acceded,  delighted  to  be 
surrounded  by  rebels  and  ruffians.  To  hold  a sort 
of  presidential  court,  or  special  commission  in  her 
own  castle,  was  an  event  consonant  with  her  feelings ; 
and  while  the  Crawleys  believed  they  were  awakening 
her  timidity  and  distrust,  they  were,  in  fact,  flattering 
the  dormant  qualities  of  her  being.  Their  low  cun- 
ning aimed  only  at  the  feebleness  of  the  human  char- 
acter, but  were  ignorant  of  the  varieties  of  which  that 
character  is  susceptible : and  accustomed  to  work 
with  no  other  tools  than  menace  and  intimidation, 
they  used  them  with  a universal  and  indiscriminate 
application,  mistaking  the  credulity  of  Lady  Dunore 
for  a timidity  foreign  to  her  temperament  and  dis- 
position. 

The  eve  of  St.  Gobnate  was  still  distant  by  some 
days ) and  in  the  anxious  interval  the  Crawleys  re- 
gained their  former  influence  over  the  lady  of  the 
castle,  and  were  frequently  closeted  with  her  for 
hours,  to  the  exclusion,  not  only  of  the  numerous 
visitors  who  called  to  pay  their  respects,  but  even  of 
her  domesticated  guests,  who  were  left  to  amuse 
themselves  as  they  might.  While  the  Crawleys  thus 1 
engrossed  her  society,  they  directed  the  channel  of 
her  thoughts,  and  worked  powerfully  on  her  imagina- 
tion. Ex  parte  statements  of  the  events  of  the  un- 
happy rebellion  of  1798  were  added  to  the  raked-up 


BOO 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


horrors  of  the  more  dreadful  1641.  Mr.  Conway 
Crawley  read  his  way  to  her  favors  through  murders 
and  massacres,  while  his  aunt  cut  hers  through  paper 
screens  and  watch-papers ; thus  combining  the  frivo- 
lous and  the  sanguinary,  to  occupy  her  mind,  and  to 
work  upon  her  feelings. 

Meantime,  the  rumor  of  an  insurrection  had  been 
spread  through  the  town  of  Dunore,  and  had  reached 
the  steward’s  room  and  servants’  hall  of  the  castle ; 
thence  it  ascended  to  the  drawing-room,  where  some 
laughed  and  some  trembled  at  it.  Although  Lady 
Dunore  and  the  Crawleys  preserved  a profound  silence 
on  the  subject,  it  was  understood  that  a party  of  the 
New-Town  Mount  Crawley  supplementary  auxiliary 
legion  occupied  the  flank  towers  of  the  castle  every 
night  after  sunset ; that  expresses  had  been  forwarded 
to  Dublin,  and  that  many  of  the  Lnglish  servants  had 
applied  for  leave  to  return  to  tneir  native  country. 
What,  however,  had  spread  the  greatest  consterna- 
tion in  the  neighborhood,  was  the  fact  that  Terence 
Oge  O’Leary’s  house  had  been  entered  by  constables, 
his  papers  seized,  and  officers  of  justice  stationed  to 
arrest  any  persons  found  lurking  about  the  cemetery 
of  the  Monaster-ny-oriel.  O'Leary  himself  escaped 
by  being  absent  on  some  of  his  usual  antiquarian  re- 
searches. 

On  that  day,  observed  in  the  country  as  the  Feast 
of  St.  Gobnate,  Lady  Dunore  descended  earlier  than 
usual  into  the  breakfast-room,  her  cheek  flushed,  and 
her  eye  wandering ; she  was  also  dressed  in  biack,  as 
was  usual  with  her  when  under  the  influence  of  grief 
or  anxiety.  She  spoke  little,  and  refused  to  break- 
fast, alleging  that  she  had  been  drinking  gunpowder 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


301 


tea  since  daylight.  She  was  restless  and  unquiet,  ap- 
peared and  disappeared  like  a phantom,  dispatched 
note  after  note  to  Mr.  Crawley,  and  seemed  so  agi- 
tated by  ill-suppressed  emotions,  that  Lord  Frederick, 
who  was  sipping  his  cafeau  lait , and  reading  a French 
novel,  at  last  inquired  of  her,  in  his  usual  tone  of  af- 
fectation, “ Metis  qyCest  ce  quHl  y a done , belle  Chate- 
laine ? What  is  the  matter,  my  marchioness  ? Are 
the  reports  we  have  heard  of  incipient  rebellion  in 
the  Celestial  Empire  really  true,  or  are  they  only  got 
up  by  the  chop-mandarins  for  their  own  special  pur- 
poses ? I dare  say  that  professeur  de  bavardise , Duke 
Conway  Townsend  Crawley,  of  the  peacock’s  feather, 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  this ; or  that  my  own  Ching- 
foo,  of  the  yellow  button,  is  amusing  himself  with  a 
plot,  like  the  honest  gentleman  that  got  his  own  ef- 
figy shot  at,  to  alarm  the  sleeping  sensibility  of  the 
lenient  government  people  at  the  castle.*  Now  pray 
speak : are  we  to  be  roasted,  a Vlrlandaise , before  a 
slow  fire,  like  so  many  chestnuts,  or  spitted,  as  the 
children  in  the  old  rebellion,  like  so  many  snipes  ?” 

Here  Lord  Frederick  was  interrupted  by  the  loud 
stamping  of  feet  outside  the  door,  which  was  sud- 
denly burst  open;  and  Lord  Rosbrin,  in  his  black 
velvet  Hamlet  suit,  which  he  had  been  trying  on  be- 
fore he  dressed,  with  wild  looks,  and  wilder  voice, 
rushed  in,  crying  out — 

w Oh  ! horror,  horror,  horror,  tongue  nor  heart 
Cannot  conceive  nor  name  thee  !” 

Lady  Dunore  shrieked,  Lord  Frederick  laughed  to 
hysterics,  and  Messrs.  Heneage  and  Pottinger  stood 

* Fact : the  ingenious  party  was  a magistrate,  and,  moreover, 
a clergyman. 


302 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


aghast.  Mr.  Daly,  who  had  been  hitherto  quietly 
reading  the  English  papers,  now  started  up  astonished, 
exclaiming  with  vivacity : 

“ Why,  are  you  all  mad ! what  is  the  matter,  Ros- 
brin  ? see,  you  have  frightened  the  ladies  to  death. 
What  is  the  matter  ?” 

“ What  is  the  matter  ?”  reiterated  Lord  Rosbrin, 
seizing  the  well-remembered  lines  of  Macduff,  “ why 
confusion  is  the  matter.!’ 

“ Confusion  has  made  his  masterpiece, 

Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  temple,  and  stolen  thence — ” 

“ Murder !”  said  Mr.  Daly,  shuddering. 

u Stolen  ! stolen  what  ?”  interrupted  Lord  Frede- 
rick, becoming  suddenly  serious. 

Lady  Dunore,  now  believing  that  there  was  reason 
for  fears,  continued  to  scream  louder  than  before; 
and  Lord  Rosbrin,  pointing  to  a letter  he  held  in  his 
hand,  observed,  with  a little  paraphrase  in  his  citation : 
“ Approach  this  letter,  and  destroy  your  sight 
With  a new  gorgon.” 

“ Who  is  it  from  ?”  said  Mr.  Daly,  snatching  the 
letter,  and  searching  for  his  spectacles. 

“ Who  from?”  continued  Lord  Rosbrin,  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room  with  frantic,  but  with  theatrical 
gestures.  “ ’Tis  from  the  deputy  prompter  of  Covent 
Garden  Theatre ; 

‘ Oh  ! insupportable,  oh  ! heavy  hour  ! 

It  should  be  now  a huge  eclipse  o’  the  sun ; 

for  oh,  my  friends,  Mrs.  Siddon’s  point  lace,  alas  ! she 
has  no  lace ! but  her  point  lace  that  was , and  that  I 
should  have  worn,  is  stolen  away  from  her  dressing- 
room  at  the  theatre  ! all,  all  gone  \ 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


303 


1 Nor  left  a wreck  behind.’  ” 

“ So,”  said  Mr.  Daly,  much  provoked,  and  resuming 
his  newspaper,  “ so,  as  Moliere  says  of  his  capricious 
lady,  ‘ on  fait  la  sottise , et  nous  sommes  les  sotsl  ” 

Meantime,  Lord  Frederick  rolled  in  convulsions  of 
laughter ; Mr.  Pottinger  and  the  ladies  dried  their 
humid  eyes ; and  Mr.  Heneage,  smelling  a flower-box 
in  the  window,  observed,  “ the  mignonette  harvest 
had  been  vastly  abundant  this  year,” 

A servant  at  this  moment  entered,  and  presented  a 
letter  to  Lady  Dunore,  which  she  took  with  trepida- 
tion ; but  as  she  read  it,  her  clouded  countenance 
brightened  into  smiles,  and  ere  she  finished  it,  she 
said : 

“ No,  never  vras  there  so  fortunate  an  event.  The 
circuit  judges  dine  here  to-day,  and  will  be  present  at 
the  trial.  Well,  after  all,  I must  say  there  is  nothing 
like  Ireland,  where  one  is  kept  in  a constant  state  of 
emotion  and  occupation  ” 

“ Trial ! what  trial  ?”  demanded  Ml\  Daly  in  aston- 
ishment. 

“ Why  the  fact  is,  my  dear  uncle,”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
no  longer  deeming  it  necessary  to  keep  a secret  which 
was  beginning  to  be  a charge , “ the  castle  of  Dunore 
was  to  have  been  attacked  this  very  night,  on  the 
Feast  of  St.  Gobnate,  but  for  the  timely  prudence  of 
the  two  Mr.  Crawleys,  who  have  discovered  the  plot, 
and  have  hitherto  concealed  their  knowledge  of  it 
from  political  motives.  They  have  succeeded  this 
morning  in  surprising  and  seizing  that  ferocious  and 
lawless  banditti,  called  Padreen  Gar's  boys ; and  I 
am  this  moment  expecting  their  arrival  at  the  castle, 
escorted  by  a party  of  the  military,  on  their  way  to 


804 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  gaol,  "We  meant  to  have  kept  all  this  quiet,  for 
fear  of  frightening  Georgy,  love,  and  alarming  you  all, 
but  now  that  the  judges  and  things  are  coming  to  the 
castle  to  dine,”  she  continued  in  a fever  of  delightful 
agitation,  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  and  fan- 
ning herself  with  a hand-screen,  “ now  we  shall  have 
a regular,  imposing,  and,  I dare  say,  amazingly  amus- 
ing trial.” 

“ Oh  ! a regular  special  commission,”  said  Mr.  Daly, 
with  ironical  seriousness.  “ An  inquest  held  on  a 
parcel  of  shanavests  and  caravats  must  he  rare  sport 
for  ladies.  But  who  are  the  charming  judges  who 
come  so  appropriately  to  preside  at  your  ladyship’s 
court,  and  to  assist  in  getting  up  a scene  for  our  pri- 
vate amusement,  at  the  expense  of  the  public  charac- 
ter of  the  county  ?” 

“ Oh  ! I know  nothing  in  the  world  about  them,” 
said  Lady  Dunore,  “ only  they  are  judges  of  some 
kind  or  other,  who  are  on  circuit,  and  who  have  in- 
vited themselves  here.  Mr.  Crawley  will  be  enchant- 
ed at  this ; it  will  save  him  trouble.  Here  is  their 
letter  : pray  read  it  aloud,”  and  she  tossed  it  to  Mr. 
Daly,  who  read  it  as  follows : 

“Baron  Boulter  presents  his  respectful  compli- 
ments to  the  Marchioness  of  Dunore ; he  proposes, 
with  his  brother  judge,  Mr.  Justice  Aubrey,  having 
the  honor  of  paying  his  respects  at  Dunore  Castle 
this  day,  between  his  breakfast  and  sleeping  stage, 
on  his  way  from  circuit  to  Dublin,  when  Baron  B. 
will  be  happy  to  become  the  bearer  of  any  commands 
her  ladyship  may  have  for  the  metropolis.” 

“The  wretched  accommodations,”  observed  Mr. 
Daly,  “ at  Bally-na-scroggen,  have,  I suppose,  induced 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY 


305 


Baron  Boulter,  who  is  a man  of  the  world,  and  a true 
disciple  of  the  savoir  vivre , to  claim  your  ladyship’s 
hospitality.  But  I know  not  what  argument  has  pre- 
vailed on  his  excellent  but  not  always  very  accommo- 
dating brother  judge,  for  once  to  agree  in  his  de- 
cision.” 

“ Oh,  it  is  no  matter  what  brings  them  here,  pro- 
vided they  come.  There  never  was  such  luck,”  con- 
tinued Lady  Dunore,  fluttering  about  the  room ; “ we 
shall  have  quite  a regular  special  commission,  as  you 
gay,  my  dear  uncle ; I hope,  though,  they  will  not  hang 
many  of  these  wretches.  You  have  no  idea  how  I 
hate  to  have  people  hanged and  she  added,  wiping 
away  her  now  fast  coming  tears,  “ If  I heard  sen- 
tence pronounced  on  a great  many  at  once,  and  the 
clanking  of  chains,  and  the  condemning  cap  and 
things -” 

“ By-the-bye,”  interrupted  Lord  Frederick,  “ apro- 
pos to  hanging;  isn’t  Baron  Boulter  the  facetious 
4 hanging  judge,’  who  makes  us  all  die  laughing  at 
the  castle  dinners  with  his  bon  mots 

“He  is  thought  to  be  a leetle  severe,”  said  Mr. 
Pottinger ; “ but  he  is  zealous  for  government,  and  is, 
perhaps,  the  best  punster  on  the  bench  ; that  is  I be- 
lieve admitted  on  ail  sides.” 

“ An  high  judicial  qualification,  my  Potty,”  returned 
Lord  Frederick,  gravely. 

“ But  should  we  not  have  something  of  a court  for 
them  ?”  asked  Lady  Dunore.  “ Good  heavens  ! how 
unlucky  Miss  Crawley  should  not  have  returned  from 
her  eternal  evangelical  school  at  Yew-Town  Mount 
Crawley ; she  would  have  cut  me  out  a court ; got 
me  up  a court,  I mean,  or  something  in  that  way,  in  a 


306 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


minute,  something  that  would  produce  a striking 
effect,  something  scenic,  you  know.” 

“ Scenic ! a striking  effect ! a good  stage  effect !” 
exclaimed  Lord  Rosbrin.  “ Leave  that  to  me,  my 
gentle  coz,  my  pretty  coz.  I have  all  the  requisite 
properties  with  me,  maces  and  halberds,  senators’ 
wigs,  ermine  and  all” 

“ We  must  have  the  packing-cases  removed  out  of 
the  hall,”  continued  Lady  Dunore ; “ and  tables,  and 
pens  and  ink,  and  things,  you  know ; for  if  we  are  to 
give  the  thing  an  air  of  a regular  trial,  we  may  as 
well  do  it  handsomely.” 

“ Trial !”  repeated  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ I have  the  Con- 
vent Garden  prompt-book,  with  the  Merchant  of 
Venice  trial,  in  my  pocket;  here  it  is.” 

Lord  Rosbrin  now  pulled  out  a ragged  book,  with 
all  the  business  of  the  stage  laid  down;  and  Lady 
Dunore  continued : 

“ Do  then,  dear  Rosbrin,  get  things  in  order,  you 
understand  these  matters  so  well ; I’ll  ring  the  bell 
for  the  servants  to  attend  you.” 

Lord  Rosbrin  caught  her  arm. 

“ Leave  everything  to  me,  my  fair  coz.  Scene — a 
hall.” 

“ I think  I could  assist  you,”  said  Mr.  Pottinger, 

“ We  shall  want,”  interrupted  Lord  Rosbrin,  stop 
ping  his  mouth,  “ trumpets,  marshal’s  staff,  two  aider- 
men,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Duchess  of  Norfolk, 
godmother — no,  hang  it,  that’s  the  christening  in 
Henry  the  Eighth.  Here  is  the  trial  scene — trumpets 
and  cornets ; two  vergers,  with  short  wands ; scribes 
in  habits  of  doctors.  Well,  only  leave  it  to  me. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


307 


Come  Pottinger,  you  shall  act  as  scribe  or  verger,  or 
property  boy.  What’s  in  a name  ?” 

The  peer  and  Mr.  Pottinger  left  the  room  together, 
followed  by  Lady  Punore,  who  was  all  emotion  and 
gratification;  while  Mr.  Paly  and  Lord  Frederick 
laughed  without  restraint,  and  Lady  Georgiana  said, 
“ that  poor  thing  will  wear  herself  out  with  her 
strong  feelings.  There  never  was  such  a quick  irrita- 
ble sensibility  as  hers.” 

“ Oh,  she  is  delicious  f”  said  Lord  Frederick,  “ tak- 
en in  small  and  distant  doses.  But  it  were  as  well  to 
live  in  a tornado  as  occupy  the  same  house  with  her 
volcanoship  for  two  months  together.” 

“ I have  never  seen  her  thus  extravagant  before,” 
said  Mr.  Paly,  in  a tone  of  mortification.  “ I confess 
I lose  all  patience  when  I see  her  the  dupe  of  these 
Crawley  plots,  or  rather  of  her  own  caprice  and 
whim,  and  of  that  insatiable  thirst  for  scenes  and  sen- 
sations that  has  made  the  torment  and  the  enjoyment 
of  her  life.  I would  not  wonder  if  she  has  worried 
poor  Punore  out  of  his  reason,  and  been  the  cause 
of  all  the  eccentricity  of  that  other  forward  but  clever 
boy,  whom  she  has  induced  to  forego  his  independent 
principles,  and  set  up  for  this  corrupt  saleable  Craw- 
ley borough.  And  yet  I love  her  for  her  mother’s 
sake ; for  she  was  an  angel — at  least  before  ill  usage 
had ” 

He  paused  abruptly,  sighed,  and  resumed  his  news- 
paper ; while  Lord  Frederick  whispered  Lady  Geor- 
giana— “ a fallen  one.” 

Within  the  ensuing  hour  the  Judges  Boulter  and 
Aubrey  arrived  at  the  castle,  were  announced,  and 


S08 


FLORENCE  MACARTH7. 


received  in  the  saloon,  as  old  acquaintances,  by  Mr. 

Daly. 

The  Right  Honorable  Baron  Boulter  was  a col- 
lateral descendant  of  the  celebrated  English  eccle- 
siastic of  that  name,  who,  under  the  title  of  “Primate 
of  Ireland,”  governed  the  land  with  a crosier  of  iron. 
Bishop  Boulter,  in  his  celebrated  letters,  has  divided 
the  population  of  Ireland  into  his  own  party,  and  the 
\natives ; and  has  added  to  this  curious  classification 
a maxim,  that  “ Ireland  is  only  to  be  governed  by  be- 
ing divided urging,  at  the  same  time,  the  necessity 
for  employing  spies  and  informers  as  proper  agents  of 
government,  and  as  worthy  of  being  remunerated  and 
recompensed  even  unto  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion. The  inheritance  of  this  family  creed  was  the 
sole  succession  of  the  Baron — himself  the  younger 
son  of  a younger  brother ; for  little  was  added  to  it 
but  a rattle  and  bells,  bequeathed  him  in  his  infancy 
by  his  grandaunt,  Mrs.  Barbara  Boulter,  which  he 
ever  afterwards  preserved ; and  which,  even  on  the 
bench,  he  was  wont  to  play  with  gaiety  enough,  when 
forensic  dulness  made  claims  on  his  patience,  or  the 
pauses  of  business  left  leisure  for  innocent  amusement. 

Baron  Boulter  had  nothing  of  the  saturnine  and 
irascible  spirit  of  his  great  political  predecessor,  the 
primate.  He  was  of  a cheerful  sanguine  tempera- 
ment ; possessed  an  evenness  of  temper  that  usually 
supplies  the  absence  of  sensibility;  and,  anywhere 
but  in  Ireland,  might  have  been  as  respectable  in  his 
public  character  as  he  was  pleasant  and  courteous  in 
his  social  deportment. 

The  rebellion  was  the  great  scene  of  action  for  such 
qualities ; and  to  that  period,  like  many  others  of  his 


FLORENCE  WACARTHY.  60 9 

professional  contemporaries,  he  stood  indebted  for  his 
pre-eminence.  The  means  of  his  rising  became  the 
habit  of  his  character:  and  he  continued  to  joke  and 
to  condemn  with  a gaiety  and  contempt  for  human 
life,  which  belonged  to  his  temperament,  and  which 
served  to  uphold  the  reputation  of  his  loyalty 

No  one  trifled  away  liberty  with  more  grace,  or 
pronounced  sentence  with  more  humor  than  Baron 
Boulter ; and  the  culprit  whom  he  jested  to  the  gal- 
lows (had  his  love  of  wit  borne  any  proportion  to  his 
fear  of  death)  must  almost  have  been  reconciled  to 
his  fate  by  the  pleasantry  that  sealed  his  destiny. 

His  professional  interests  and  political  principles 
aside,  (which  in  Ireland  are  always  closely  connected,) 
Baron  Boulter  was  fair-judging  and  clear-sighted. 
He  came  at  results  with  the  prompt  but  unlogical 
process  of  a woman’s  perceptions ; but  living  always 
on  one  spot,  within  a narrow  circle,  his  knowledge  of 
human  nature  went  no  ^further  than  the  sphere  of  his 
action ; and  his  philosophy  was  as  local  as  his  jokes. 
He  could  flatter  an  Irish  chancellor,  adulate  an  Irish 
viceroy,  amuse  the  priggish  dulness  of  an  Irish  secre- 
tary, joke  with,  or  sift  to  the  very  bottom  of  evasion 
and  circumlocution,  an  Irish  peasant,  while  he  gayly 
laughed  with,  and  secretly  laughed  at  all.  Still,  his 
human  nature  was  always  Irish  nature ; and  though, 
as  far  as  experience  went,  his  premises  were  just,  yet 
they  were  confined,  narrow,  and  home-directed ; for 
the  rest,  social  in  habits,  of  amiable  address,  and 
pleasant  humor;  he  was  sought  for  by  the  great, 
whom  he  amused,  and  feared  by  the  poor,  whom  he 
i — hung. 

Judge  Aubrey  was  in  character  a mixture  of  those 


310 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


temperaments  which  produce  a quick  and  irritable 
sensibility,  a prompt,  uncalculating  sympathy,  and 
a warm,  deep-seated,  violent  indignation;  qualities 
which  form  so  broad  a basis  for  human  excellence, 
while  they  unfit  it  for  a patient  endurance  of  base- 
ness, meanness,  and  cupidity.  These  were  power- 
fully worked  on,  and  hourly  called  into  action,  by  the 
political  situation  of  a country  which  he  loved  with 
all  the  fervor  of  an  ancient  Roman,  and  by  the  sys- 
tematic degradation  of  a profession  he  venerated  as 
the  guardian  of  human  rights.  His  bile  and  his  ex- 
perience increased  together ; the  hopes  of  the  patriot, 
and  the  health  of  the  man,  suffered  in  equal  propor- 
tion ; and  the  social  simplicity  and  playful  gaiety  which 
formed  the  charm  of  his  domestic  hearth,  and  from 
which  the  world  was  shut  out,  deserted  him  in  that 
public  tribunal,  where  the  liberty  he  worshipped  was 
sacrificed,  and  the  profession  he  revered  was  debased. 

Ireland,  his  native  contry,  was  his  object : he  had 
upheld  her  cause  in  the  senate,  until  her  independence 
had  breathed  its  last  gasp ; and  he  retired  from  the 
scene  of  her  run  with  a minority  that  might,  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  be  deemed  “ glorious.”  Ireland 
was  still  his  object ; and  the  lowliest  of  her  children 
found  redemption  from  his  mercy,  solace  in  his  com- 
miseration, and  relief  from  his  liberality.  From  the 
bench  he  expounded  the  causes  of  their  crimes,  while 
he  lamented  their  effects ; he  taught  while  he  judged 
— he  wept  when  he  condemned. 

From  the  period  of  the  Union,  Judge  Aubrey  had 
retired  from  what  is  called  the  world,  from  the 
bustling  walks  of  life,  and  from  the  giddy  round  of 
fashionable  circles.  Living  for  and  with  a few,  he 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


311 


had  for  many  years  made  no  progress  in  the  succes- 
sive modes  and  jargons  of  succeeding  fashions ; and 
it  was  in  part  to  this  circumstance  that  he  owed 
much  of  that  peculiar  freshness  of  character,  and 
Something  of  that  austerity  of  manner,  which  the 
friction  of  society  is  so  apt  to  efface.  This  well-pre- 
served individuality  was  set  off  by  a peculiar  man- 
ner, idiom,  and  phrase,  which,  as  well  as  his  broad  ac- 
cent, were  genuinely  Irish.  To  profound  classical 
reading,  and  considerable  scientific  acquirement,  he 
added  an  unpretending  simplicity,  which  is  insepara- 
bly connected  with  the  highest  order  of  talent,  though 
so  often  falsely  attributed  to  mediocrity  and  igno- 
rance. 

Such  were  the  two  high  judicial  characters,  who, 
now  linked  in  a professional  yoke,  drew  as  different 
ways  as  untrained  colts  in  the  same  harness.  Since 
the  commencement  of  their  circuit,  they  had  never 
agreed  upon  any  one  point,  except  the  expediency  of 
trying  the  French  chef  de  cuisine  of  the  Marchioness 
of  Dunore,  instead  of  relying  on  the  gastronomic 
talents  of  Judy  Mulligan,  of  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes,  in 
the  neighboring  town  of  Bally-na-scroggen. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

“ The  council  shall  hear  it — it  is  a riot.” 

“ Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not — I will  make 

A Star-chamber  matter  of  it.” 

Shakspeare. 

On  the  arrival  of  Baron  Boulter  and  Judge  Aubrey, 
Lady  Dunore  was  summoned  to  the  breakfast  parlor. 
Already  she  had  seen  a crowd  of  persons  wandering 
among  the  hills,  and  the  glitter  of  arms  hashing  in 
the  sunshine.  Her  ardent  imagination  magnified  the 
New-Town  cavalry  corps,  and  half  a dozen  peasants, 
into  a prodigious  military  force,  and  a formidable 
band  of  rebels ; and  she  rushed  into  the  apartment 
where  the  two  judges  were  quietly  taking  a soup 
after  their  long  morning’s  ride.  With  eyes  flashing, 
and  cheeks  suffused,  she  welcomed  them  to  the  cas- 
tle. She  expressed  her  gratitude  to  Baron  Boulter, 
in  exaggerated  terms,  for  a visit  so  kindly  volun- 
teered ; and  uttered  a fervent  hope  that  their  pres- 
ence would  give  importance  to  an  event  in  which 
many  lives  were  concerned.  She  then  abruptly  ended 
with  the  question  of — 

“ But  which  of  you,  my  lords,  is  the  hanging 

judge  ?” 

This  question,  which  startled  the  judges,  confused  i 
Mr.  Daly,  and  threw  Lord  Frederick  into  agonies 
(lest  in  her  delirious  ravings  she  should  cite  him  as 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


313 


authority  for  this  judicial  sobriquet ),  produced  a short 
silence,  until  Mr.  Daly  came  to  the  relief  of  the  party, 
by  observing : 

“ My  dear  lords,  I must  account  for  this  agitation 
of  my  niece,  Lady  Dunore,  by  informing  you  that 
her  mind  and  feelings  have  been  worked  on  by  some 
representations  of  the  state  of  this  province  not  per- 
fectly correct.  Her  agent  and  confidential  person, 
Mr.  Crawley,  is  a timid  man,  and  it  is  but  fair  to  say 
that  I believe  he  is  frequently  the  dupe  of  his  own 
fears.  But  he  also  belongs  to  a certain  party,  who, 
under  the  guise  of  inordinate  and  exclusive  loyalty, 
act  in  defiance  of  the  law  of  the  land,  are  lawless  by 
the  concurrence,  or  at  least  the  countenance,  of  those 
in  authority,  and  may  be  said,  in  the  language  of  a 
celebrated  orator,  to  be  4 opposed  to  rule  by  act  of 
Parliament.’  Among  such  persons  it  is  a favorite 
system  of  tactics  to  create  false  alarms,  and  then  to 
ingraft  strong  measures  upon  the  fears  they  have 
awakened.  I have  some  reason  to  think  my  niece  is 
at  this  moment  the  victim  of  this  wretched  and 
hackneyed  policy,  and  that  the  attack  on  her  castle, 
and  the  smothered  insurrection  with  which  she  has 
been  anonymously  threatened,  are  the  phantoms,  I 
will  not  say  the  creations,  of  Mr.  Crawley’s  brain.” 

Lady  Dunore,  mortified  and  disappointed  by  a 
speech  that  threw  her  out  of  a sphere  of  action  to 
which  all  her  fancies  and  feelings  were  made  up,  was 
beginning  an  expostulation  with  her  uncle,  wThen 
Baron  Boulter  interrupted  her  by  observing  that 
“ the  Irish  were  a very  fine  people,  and  a very  hand- 
some people ; but  that  it  was  most  certain  a little 
occasional  hanging,  just  now  and  then,  did  them  no 


314 


CATHOLIC  ANECDOTES. 


harm;  and  though  they  might  not,  in  the  present 
instance,  be  so  deeply  implicated  in  rebellious  prac- 
tices as  the  loyal  and  vigilant  prudence  of  his  worthy 
friend  Darby  Crawley  suggested,  yet  a little  timely 
caution  and  wholesome  severity  rarely  came  amiss ; 
that  he  would  willingly  lend  his  aid  in  examining 
into  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and  endeavor  to 
dissipate  her  ladyship’s  fears  by  exploring  their 
cause.” 

“ The  people  of  Ireland,”  said  Judge  Aubrey,  in  a 
tone  between  sullenness  and  indignation,  “like  the 
people  of  other  nations,  are  pretty  much  what  their 
government  has  made  them.  They  are  factious  be- 
cause they  are  wretched ; and  it  is  the  fashion  of  the 
day  to  give  to  their  local  disturbances,  to  their  re- 
sistance to  the  collection  of  the  tythes  they  are  un- 
able to  pay,  to  their  murmurs  against  the  taxes, 
which  have  reduced  the  country  to  ruin,  and  even  to 
their  personal  and  oft-barbarous  conflicts  among 
each  other,  the  names  of  insurrection  and  rebellion. 
Mr.  Crawley,  madam,  is  an  old  alarmist ; and  your 
ladyship  is,  I perceive,  new  to  the  modes  by  which 
affairs  in  this  country  are  carried  on.” 

“ But  when  an  armed  force  is  at  our  gates,”  said 
Lady  Dunore,  in  a tone  of  irritation  and  impatience ; 
“ when  letters  reach  my  hands,  Judge  Aubrey,  which 
inform  us  that 

“ The  charge  is  prepared,  the  lawyers  are  met, 

The  judges  arrayed,  a terrible  sight,” 

interrupted  Lord  Rosbrin,  as  he  burst  into  the  room 
with  a billiard  cue  in  his  hand  for  a wand. 

“ Everything  is  ready,”  he  observed:  “the  court 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


315 


waits,  the  prisoners  are  arrived,  and  the  counsel  will 
be  here  in  a few  moments.” 

“We  have  endeavored  to  make  things  comfort- 
able for  you,  Baron,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  putting  her 
arm  through  Baron  Boulter’s,  and  hurrying  him 
towards  the  hall,  where  she  was  followed  by  Judge 
Aubrey,  Mr.  Daly,  Lord  Frederick,  Mr.  Heneage, 
Mr.  Pottinger  and  Lady  Georgiana. 

“ There,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  presenting  two  arm- 
chairs to  the  judges,  placed  at  the  head  of  the  hall, 
before  a table  covered  with  heavy  volumes,  “ there, 
my  lords,  that  is  the  awful  seat  of  judgment.  Here, 
Lady  Georgiana,  this  is  your  place,  and  yours  Ever- 
sham  and  Heneage  : you  are  the  special  jury.  You 
see  we  have  a fine  gallery,  a charming  audience,”  and 
he  pointed  to  the  corridor,  which  ran  round  the 
hall,  and  was  filled  with  valets-de-chambre,  ladies’ 
maids,  with  the  inferior  branches  of  the  Dunore 
household;  “and,”  he  added,  fixing  some  chairs  and 
a table  to  the  left,  “ this  is  the  place  for  the  counsel 
for  the  crown,  the  learned  Crawl eys,  ‘ very  Daniels 
the  prisoners,  you  see,  my  lords,  occupy  the  lower 
part  of  the  hall,  the  back-ground  being  filled  up 
with  guards,  officers,  mutes,  and  others ; and  the 
solitary  female  prisoner,  the  Queen  Catherine  of  the 
trial,  though  in  a rug  cloak,  is  placed,  in  delicacy  to 
her  sex,  in  the  shade  of  this  recess  and  painted  win- 
dow.” 

Everything  was,  indeed,  in  the  order  which  Lord 
Rosbrin  had  described. 

The  prisoners  occupied  the  foot  of  the  hall.  The 
New-Town  Mount  Crawley  corps  filled  the  portico. 
A woman,  in  a coarse  gray  cloak,  and  straw  bonnet- 


316 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


drawn  over  her  face,  was  seated  in  the  recess  of  the 
Gothic  window ; and  the  rest  of  the  party  were  dis- 
posed of  according  to  Lord  Rosbrin’s  idea  of  the 
stage  business  of  the  trial  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 

On  the  countenance  of  Baron  Boulter  was  painted 
an  expression  of  great  humor,  as  of  one  ready  to  be 
amused,  as  to  amuse.  Jiadge  Aubrey  was,  on  the 
contrary,  sullenly  looking  over  a volume  of  Hogarth, 
which  lay  before  him  on  the  table ; evidently  out  of 
patience  and  out  of  temper  with  the  absurdity  of  the 
passing  scene.  Lady  Dunore  was  fluttering  about 
from  place  to  place,  and  from  person  to  person,  in 
hysterical  emotions,  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  smiles 
upon  her  lips;  and  Lord  Rosbrin  was  beginning  a 
speech  from  the  trial  of  Queen  Catherine,  and  had,  in 
the  legal  phrase,  got  on  his  legs,  when  Mr.  Crawley, 
his  son,  and  sister,  followed  by  his  clerk,  Jemmy 
Bryan,  carrying  a green  bag,  appeared  pushing 
through  the  crowd,  which  filled  the  bottom  of  the 
spacious  hall. 

“ Oh  ! I am  glad  you  are  come,”  said  Lady  Du- 
nore, speaking  to  them  from  her  “jury  box.”  “Are 
you  not  enchanted  at  the  turn  things  have  taken! 
Only  conceive,  what  luck  ! Baron  Boulter  and  Judge 
Aubrey  so  kindly  consenting  to  be  present  at  our 
little  special  commission.  Rosbrin,  pray  show  the 
Mr.  Crawieys  their  place.  Miss  Crawley,  I’ll  make 
room  for  you  here  : we  must  put  you  on  the  jury.” 

The  Crawieys  for  a moment  remained  motionless. 
To  their  utter  amazement,  the  whimsicality  and  ex- 
travagance of  Lady  Dunore  had  overturned  all  their 
long  and  ingeniously-concerted  plans.  Instead  of 
their  snug  star-chamber  trial,  they  now  stood  con- 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIV. 


317 


fronted  before  the  judges  of  the  land  in  the  presence 
of  a Large  assembly ; while  the  examinations  of  the 
prisoners,  which  they  meant  to  turn  to  the  account 
of  terror,  would  now  be  taken  out  of  their  hands,  and 
be  made  a jest  of  by  the  baron,  or  be  conducted  in 
such  a way  by  Judge  Aubrey  as  would  betray  the 
inadequacy  of  the  charges  upon  which  their  wild- 
looking prisoners  were  to  be  committed. 

Meantime,  the  clerk  spread  the  table  with  deposi- 
tions against  the  prisoners.  Old  Crawley  seated 
himself  before  it,  and  Lord  Rosbrin,  flourishing  about, 
with  theatrical  solemnity,  exclaimed  : 

“ Now  then  proceed  to  justice,  which  shall  have 
Due  course.  Produce  the  prisoners.  Silence  ! 

Read  the  indictments.” 

The  clerk  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  cleared  his 
voice;  while  Baron  Boulter,  endowed  with  a pliancy 
of  mind  which  permits  the  pursuit  of  many  objects  at 
the  same  moment,  and  in  the  habit  of  dispatching  an 
epigram,  and  a warrant,  of  giving  judgment  and  an 
invitation  to  dinner  in  the  same  breath,  now  called 
for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  that  he  might  answer  a few 
letters,  and  listen  to  the  examinations  “ without  loss 
of  time  or  hindrance  of  business.” 

Judge  Aubrey,  throwing  aside  his  book,  observed : 
“ Since  I take  my  seat  here  to  the  quality  of  a magis- 
trate, at  the  desire  of  the  Marchioness  of  Dunore,  I 
beg  that  if  there  are  any  depositions  to  be  made 
against  these  men,  who  appear  to  be  under  a double 
guard,  civil  and  military,  they  may  be  gone  through 
forthwith.” 

“ My  lord,”  said  Conway  Crawley,  getting  on  his 
legs,  with  the  air  of  a counsel  opening  some  important 


318 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


cause,  “ my  lord,  before  we  proceed  to  read  these  de- 
positions against  these  unfortunate  men,  I shall  beg 
leave  to  state  the  case  as  it  appears  to  me,  and  to 
give  a slight  sketch  of  the  actual  situation  of  the 
barony.” 

“ Sir,”  interrupted  the  judge,  “ I won’t  hear  you. 
You  can  tell  me  nothing  of  this  country  that  I do  not 
already  know.  I have  neither  time  nor  health  to 
listen  to  idle  declamation,  and  ten  times  1 told  tales.’  ” 
“ My  lord,  I must  observe,”  continued  young  Craw- 
ley, petulantly,  “ that  among  the  virtues  of  a judge, 
patience  is  the  most  necessary ; and  Lord  Mansfield, 
my  lord,  obtained  more  credit  for  that  virtue,  than 
for  ail  his  other  judicial  merits  combined.” 

“ Then,  sir,  my  Lord  Mansfield  never  was  obliged 
to  listen  to  you,”  said  the  judge,  coldly. 

A universal  smile  followed  this  observation,  which 
was  made  with  a sort  of  sullen  naivete  that  gave  it 
great  effect;  while  old  Crawley,  trembling  at  the 
audacity  of  his  son,  whispered  him  : 

“Aisy,  now!  aisy,  Con,  dear;  troth  you’ll  put 
your  foot  in  it,  if  you  let  your  gianius  get  the  better 
of  you  this  way.” 

The  clerk  now  read  the  depositions  in  a nasal  tone 
and  drawling  brogue,  which  gave  infinite  amusement 
to  the  fashionable  part  of  the  audience ; and  at  last 
got  through  the  sundry  charges  against  Padreen  Gar, 
Denis  Tully,  Shamus  Joy,  Dan  Brogan,  Teague 
MacMahon,  Owny  Sullivan,  and  others,  who  came 
under  the  denomination  of  “ Padreen  Gar’s  Boys.” 
They  stood  accused  of  feloniously  assembling  for 
purposes  of  rebellion,  and  breach  of  the  king’s  peace, 
at  Saint  Gobanate’s  Well,  under  the  pretence  of  cele- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


319 


brating  the  feast  of  that  saint ; and  of  acting  under 
the  influence  of  Terence  Oge  O’Leary,  who  had  ab- 
sconded, but  whose  papers  being  seized,  betrayed  a 
regular  plan  of  insurrection,  which  was  aided  by 
several  Catholic  gentlemen  of  the  country,  in  corres- 
pondence with  Spain  and  France. 

Baron  Boulter,  now  folding  his  letter,  called  for  a 
lighted  candle  and  sealing-wax,  and  addressing  the 
prisoners,  said : 

“ My  honest  friends,  it  appears  to  me,  from  the  de- 
positions which  have  been  just  set  forth,  that  you 
have  ail  incurred  the  chance  of  being  hanged ; an 
event  that  must  in  all  probability  have  taken  place  at 
one  time  or  other  of  your  lives  : and  I dare  say  you 
will  agree  with  me,  my  honest  friends,  that  whether 
a little  sooner,  or  a little  later,  it  is  a matter  of  but 
trifling  importance.  (I’ll  trouble  you,  sir,  to  snuff  the 
candle.)  You  see,  my  friends,  I wrish  to  do  nothing 
in  the  dark,  and  am  endeavoring  to  throw  every  pos- 
sible light  upon  your  case.  There,  now,  is  my  young 
and  clever  friend,  Mr.  Conway  Townsend  Crawley, 
smiling  at  me  ! and  my  old  friend,  Mr.  Crawley,  his 
venerable  father,  smiling  also.  The  Crawley s,  gen* 
tlemen,  are  good-humored  men,  and  cheerful  men.  I 
am,  myself,  a good-humored  man ; and  in  that  point, 
at  least,  I resemble  Lord  Mansfield.  And  now,  my 
friends,  with  such  active  magistrates  and  loyal  men 
as  the  Mister  Crawleys  among  you,  the  one  a high 
sheriff,  the  other  a high  treasurer,  the  one  a sitting 
barrister,  and  another  a sergeant  (not,  however,  I 
trust,  a permanent  sergeant),  with  such  enlightened 
guardians  of  the  law  to  keep  you  quiet,  and  put  you 
up,  and  put  you  down,  it  is  singular  that  you  should 


820 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


meet  at  St.  Gobnate’s  Well,  for  the  purposes  of  sedi- 
tion and  rebellion.  Mr.  Crawley,  sen.,  may  be  justly 
styled  the  grand  conservator  of  the  peace  of  Bally- 
dab,  and  with  his  worthy  sons,  I must  say,  forms  an 
aula  regis.  (A  term,  by-the-bye,  borrowed  from  the 
Norman  law,  as  you  well  know,  my  honest  friends, 
none  better.)  (I’ll  trouble  you,  sir,  for  a little  black 
wax.)  As  for  Counsellor  Conway  Crawley,  I look 
upon  him  as  the  very  repertorium  of  the  laws  ; one 
who  has  read  everything;  Burn’s  Justice,  Black- 
stone’s  Commentaries,  the  Registrum  Brevium,  and 
Paley’s  Evidences ; deep  read  in  the  Saxon  law,  the 
Norman  law,  the  Brehon  law,  and  the  game  law. 
But  apropos  to  game  laws,  would  you,  Mr.  Footman, 
step  out  to  my  servant,  and  tell  him  to  take  the 
grouse  out  of  the  guncase,  and  present  them  to  the 
cook,  with  Baron  Boulter’s  very  best  compliments  ? 
The  point  to  establish,  my  honest  friends,  is  this — 
were  you  really  at  Saint  Gobnate’s  Well  for  the  pur- 
poses of  sedition  ? Can  you  prove  that  you  were 
not?  I address  myself  in  particular  to  you,  Mr. 
Padreen  Gar,  as  chief  of  this  conspiracy : were  you 
at  Saint  Gobnate’s  Well  this  morning?  and  for  what 
purpose.” 

“ Is  it  for  what  purpose,  my  lord  ?”  said  Padreen 
Gar,  advancing  intrepidly  into  the  centre  of  the  hall, 
and  displaying  a bold  and  careless  countenance^  “ Is 
it  what  brought  me  there,  sir  ? Sure  your  lordship 
knows  right  well  what  would  be  bringing  a poor 
man  to  the  holy  well,  plaze  your  lordship’s  honor,  sir ; 
isn’t  it  his  dewotion,  my  lord  ? what  else,  sir  ? And 
has  been  going  to  the  well  an  hundred  years,  and 
more,  my  lord — troth  we  have.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


321 


il  Will  you  make  affidavit  of  that,  Mr.  Padreen  Gar?” 
“ I will,  plaze  your  lordship.” 

“ Then,  Mr.  Padreen,  I can  only  say,  that  a pitcher 
that  goes  so  often  to  the  well  is  liable  to  come  home 
broken  at  last,  which  I think  I shall  be  able  to  prove 
to  you  before  I have  done.  But  who  is  that  in  the 
red  snanavest?  (I  believe  that  is  good  Irish  for  a 
waistcoat,  as  some  of  you  know,  my  friends,  to  your 
cost) — he  wdio  is  seeking  my  attention,  as  I judge  by 
his  expressive  countenance.” 

“ It’s  Barney  Tully,  as  sold  your  honor  a horse,  my 
lord,  last  sizes;  long  life  to  your  lordship,”  said  a 
slight,  meagre,  but  alert  person,  stepping  before  Pad- 
reen Gar,  and  displaying  a countenance  of  sly  and  in- 
telligent expression. 

“ So : Mr.  Tully,  how  do  you  do,  my  equestrian 
friend?  Now,  Mr.  Barney  Tully,  though  I have  too 
much  respect  for  your  name  and  calling  to  wish  to 
pry  into  Tully’ s offices,  I must,  nevertheless,  institute 
an  inquiry  into  the  cause  of  your  appearing  at  Saint 
Gobnate’s  Well.” 

“ Och ! plaze  your  honor,  I’ll  prove  an  alibi,  my 
lord;  for  upon  oath  this  day,  ’bove  all  days  of  the 
year,  I was  working  on  Mr.  Crawley’s  new  road, 
when  I was  seen  and  taken  at  Saint  Gobnate’s  Well, 
sir.” 

“ Then,  Tullus  Aufidius,  it  is  very  plain  you  are  of 
that  class  in  Irish  zoology,  so  puzzling  to  naturalists, 
called  the  bird  that  can  be  in  two  places  at  once.” 

“ I am,  sir,”  replied  Barney,  smiling  archly  : “ sure 
enough,  an  Irish  bird,  egg  and  feather ; and  so  was 
my  father  before  me,  my  lord.” 

“We  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  father,  my 


322 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


honest  friend  Tully,  because  we  do  not  want,  in  this 
instance,  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone  ; and  prefer, 
in  all  instances,  a bird  in  the  hand  to  two  in  the  bush. 
Now,  my  friend  in  the  carawat,  what  is  your  name  ?” 
He  addressed  a foolish-looking  person  with  a red 
handkerchief  tightened  round  his  neck,  almost  to 
strangling. 

“ I’m  called  Teague  MacMahon,  plaze  your  lord- 
ship.” 

“ You  could  not  be  called  by  a better  name,  Mr. 
MacMahon,  if  your  father  'was  as-- anxious  as  Tristram 
Shandy’s  to  give  you  a lucky  one.” 

“ Long  life  to  your  lordship,  and  God  bless  you, 
sir.” 

“ But,  Mr.  MacMahon,  with  such  a name,  I cannot 
well  understand  how  you  should  be  guilty  of  such 
disloyal  practices  as  to  join  Padreen  Gar’s  rebellious 
band,  at  that  site  of  all  insubordination,  St.  Gobnate’s 
Well.” 

“ Why,  then,  see  here,  plaze  your  lordship,”  said 
Teague  MacMahon,  waving  his  hand,  and  speaking 
with  great  emphasis,  “ I should  never  gone  near  the 
well,  and  had  no  call,  only  in  regard  to  my  taste  of 
bacon,  which  was  stolen  dishonestly  from  me,  plaze 
your  honor.” 

“ Then  you  are  one  of  those  improvident  persons, 
Mr.  MacMahon,  who  have  not  the  art  of  saving  your 
bacon.” 

“ Sure,  I did  save  it,*  plaze  your  honor,  and  saved 
it  well,  and  hung  it  up  in  the  chimbley,  and  quartered 
it  in  three  halves,  my  lord;  and  was  to  give  a small 
half  to  Darby  Hoolegan,  in  lieu  of  two  pecks  of  male 

* i.  e.  Cur©  it,  salt  it.  An  Hiberaicism, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


823 


(meal),  and  an  hundred  of  nails  for  my  brogues  : and 
while  I was  at  Mass,  what  should  he  do,  but  comes  in, 
and  skelps  off  with  the  biggest  half,  and  leaves  me 
only  a wTeeny  taste ; and  so  I went  after  him  to  Saint 
Gobnate’s,  where  I was  taken  up,  sir,  only  for  look- 
ing after  the  remains  of  my  bacon.” 

“ The  truth  then  is  out,  Mr.  MacMahon  ; you  went 
in  search  of  a man,  wrho  had  the  boldness  to  make  an 
abridgment  of  Bacon.” 

“ Och,  musha  ! that’s  it;  long  life  to  your  lordship,” 
said  Teague,  triumphantly. 

“I  hope,  however,  Mr.  MacMahon,  that  your 
friend  had  the  taste  to  preserve  all  the  attic  salt.” 

“ Och  ! plaze  your  honor,  it  was  w^ell  salted  and 
smoked,  too,  before  he  took  a taste  of  it.” 

“ Then,  Mr.  MacMahon,  I must  say,  that  had  you 
but  smoked  your  friend  as  you  have  smoked  your 
bacon,  you  would  not  now  be  the  victim  of  your 
credulity,  nor  brought  before  me  on  suspicion  of 
high  treason.” 

“ My  lord,  my  lord,”  interrupted  Judge  Aubrey, 
with  an  air  of  irrepressible  impatience,  “ I beg  your 
pardon ; but  though  I believe  this  mockery  of  justice 
is  got  up  simply  for  the  amusement  of  this  distin- 
guished circle,  jet  I cannot  witness  or  assist  in  car- 
rying on  a farce,  which  may  in  the  end  be  pregnant 
with  evil  to  the  persons  who  stand  in  custody  before 
us.  The  depositions  are  a tissue  of  absurdity  and 
nonsense  ; and  though  magistrates  can  in  this  country 
deprive  persons  of  their  liberty  upon  grounds  quite 
as  slight,  yet  I am  not  quite  certain  that  the  warrant 
upon  which  they  have  been  arrested  is  a legal  instru- 
ment. Show  me  your  warrant,  constable.— Yes,  it 


824 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


is,  as  I suspected,  a vague  mittimus ; a contrivance 
of  certain  active  magistrates  to  get  obnoxious  per- 
sons into  their  power,  and  by  which  they  baffle  the 
protection  of  the  laws,  omitting  to  state  any  name, 
day,  place,  or  particulars  of  the  offences.  Nothing, 
therefore,  remains  but  to  discharge  these  poor  men, 
and  send  them  to  their  work.5’ 

“ My  learned  brother,”  said  the  baron,  with  much 
pleasantry  of  manner,  “ ’tis  not  for  you  or  me  to 
bring  in  the  verdict:  we  must  refer  it  to  the  jury; 
and  I believe  a fairer  jury  never  sat.  What  say  you, 
ladies  ? guilty  or  not  guilty  ?” 

“Not  guilty  upon  my  honor,”  cried  Lady  Georgi- 
ana,  joined  by  all  the  patrician  voices  present ; while 
Lady  Dunore,  as  much  amused  by  the  turn  the  mock 
trial  was  taking,  as  she  had  been  agitated  by  its 
probable  issue,  cried  out  louder  than  them  all,  “ Oh, 
not  guilty,  not  guilty !” 

The  judges  now  arose;  and  Judge  Aubrey  was 
about  to  address  the  prisoners,  and  to  address  them 
with  an  admonition,  when  young  Crawley  starting 
forward,  exclaimed  with  vehemence — 

“ Stay,  my  lord ! before  you  again  turn  these  law- 
less men  loose  upon  this  unfortunate  district,  whom 
your  lordship  must  be  aware  have  had  no  examina- 
tion whatever,  I beg  to  be  heard  for  a few  minutes. 
Your  lordship  has  called  the  depositions  made  by 
sundry  respectable  persons  a tissue  of  nonsense  and 
absurdity ; but  we  know  how  easy  it  is  to  despise  the 
dawnings  of  all  insurrections ; we  have  learned  also 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  do  so.  The  ravings  of  the 
first  few  followers  of  Cromwell  at  Huntingdon,  a 
scuffle  for  apples  by  Massaniello  at  Naples,  and  the 

m 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


325 


dissensions  of  the  Poissardes  at  Paris,  however  con- 
temptible in  their  origin,  were  yet  the  commence- 
ment and  causes  of  the  mighty  and  terrific  revolu- 
tions which  followed.  But,  my  lords,  I will,  I think, 
convince  you  that  the  seeds  of  rebellion  have  taken  in 
this  province  a deeper  root  than  in  the  breasts  of  a 
few  barbarous  peasants ; that  foreign  incendiaries  are 
at  work  to  undermine  the  good  will  subsisting 
between  Ireland  and  the  parent  country;  and  that 
intrigues  are  now  carried  on  between  France,  Spain, 
and  some  of  the  Catholic  gentlemen  of  this  country, 
through  the  medium  of  an  old  offender,  who  was 
deeply  implicated  in  the  rebellion,  a sort  of  peda- 
gogue named  Terence  Oge  O'Leary.” 

“ Good  God !”  exclaimed  Lady  Dunore,  plunged 
into  a new  series  of  emotions,  “ how  extraordinary  ! 
only  conceive ! French  agents  in  this  remote  spot ! 
Go  on,  Mr.  Conway,  pray  go  on.” 

“ Last  night,”  continued  young  Crawley,  with  re- 
newed spirit,  “a  search  warrant  was  procured  for 
examining  O’Leary’s  papers ; and,  as  he  was  not  at 
home,  his  desk  was  opened,  and  some  curious  plans 
of  the  intended  rebellion  came  to  light,  which  were 
forwarded  by  a military  express  to  the  castle,  after  I 
had  taken  copies  of  them.  Here,”  continued  young 
Crawley,  triumphantly  taking  up  paper  after  paper 
out  of  his  father’s  “ green  bag,”  “ here  is  first  a list  of 
the  ancient  families  of  this  province,  whose  descend- 
ants (laborers  in  my  father’s  grounds,  and  in  her 
ladyship’s)  will  be  doubtlessly  proved  one  of  these 
days  to  be  lords  of  the  soil.  Here  is  a fragment 
relative  to  the  late  Florence  Macarthy,  a drunken  old 
dotard,  who  lived  in  this  neighborhood,  and  was 


326 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


called  the  titular  Earl  of  Clancare.  It  is  curious,  as 
proving  that  he  has  long  been  considered  the  true 
lord  of  this  district,  and  was  secretly  acknowledged 
such  by  his  own  party,  which  includes  all  the  disloyal 
people  in  the  country ; for  his  paper  states  the  follow- 
ing fact,  in  the  quaint  old  language,  still  used  by  the 
Catholic  gentry,  and  particularly  affected  by  Terence 
Oge  O’Leary, — that  1 Florence  Macarthy,  by  consent 
of  all  the  Popish  bishops,  deacons,  Jesuits,  friars,  and 
all  the  Irish  nobilities  assembled,  was  created  Mac- 
arthy More,  using  in  creation  all  the  rites  and  cere- 
monies customary  to  the  ancient  Irish,  being  joined 
by  all  the  nobility  and  noblesse  of  the  province — viz., 
the  Na  Donnells-Ferrars,  the  Offaleys,  O’Sullivans- 
Beare,  and  Moriarty  M'Teague  ( names,  my  lord, 
better  known  in  the  flourishing  city  of  Ballydab  than 
in  the  Red  Book  or  Debreet’s  Peerage).  It  is  with 
regret,  also,  I add — that  among  those  provincial 
noblesse  are  inscribed  the  names  of  the  Knights  of 
Kerry  and  Glynn,  the  White  Knight,  and* the  Knight 
of  the  Valley,  and,  in  short,  many  members  of  the 
Fitzgerald  family.  But  what  is  most  curious  of  all 
is  the  following  letter  from  a Spanish  priest,  on  whom 
it  seems  the  Archbishopric  of  Dublin  has  already 
been  bestowed.  This  letter,  without  date,  is  ad- 
dressed to  the  late  Florence  Macarthy,  of  Ballydab, 
by  the  style  and  title  of  the  1 Most  Excellente  Earl 
Florence  Macarthy,  of  Clancare,’  and  is  well  worth 
attending  to.” 

“Oh!  let  us  have  the  archbishop’s  letter,  by  all 
means,”  said  Lady  Dunore.  “ Only  think,  Georgy, 
love,  of  giving  away  an  archbishopric ! it  is  quite  too 
amusing.  Pray  go  on,  Mr.  Conway.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


327 


Mr  Conway  cleared  his  voice,  and  read  as  follows : 

“ My  Good  Earl  : — *God  is  my  witness,  that  after 
my  arrival  in  Ireland,  having  knowledge  of  your  lord- 
ship’s valor  and  learning  (his  valor,  Lady  Dunore,  was 
leading  the  Ballydab  boys  some  thirty  years  back  in 
a contest  with  the  Glannacrimes),  I had  an  extreme 
desire  to  see  and  to  communicate,  and  to  confer  with 
so  principal  a personage ; but  the  length  of  the  wray 
would  not  permit  me.  I am  now  departing  into 
Spain,  with  grief  that  I had  not  visited  those  parts ; 
but  I hope  shortly  to  return  to  this  kingdom,  and  to 
give  you  entire  satisfaction:  and  be  assured  that  I 
will  perform  with  his  Majesty  vdiat  a brother  ought 
to  do,  that  he  should  send  from  Spain.  Because  by 
letter  I cannot  speak  any  more,  I leave  the  rest  till 
sight.  The  Lord  have  your  lordship  in  His  keeping, 
according  to  my  desire.  Yo  Mateo, 

Arcobispo  di  Dublin ,m 

“How,  my  Lords  and  Lady  Dundre,  whether  his 
Majesty  here  alluded  to  be  Bonaparte,  or  King 
Joseph,  it  is  evident  that  the  late  Mr.  Macarthy  kept 
up  a secret  correspondence  with  the  enemies  of  the 
country ; and  it  is  also  pretty  certain  that  this  ‘ Yo 
Mateo ’ has  fulfilled  his  promise  of  returning  to  com- 
municate what  he  dared  not  write.  He  has  been  lor 
more  than  a week  back  lurking  in  this  neighborhood, 
and  even  had  the  audacity  to  present  himself  in  my 
father’s  house  on  false  pretences  He  is  now  under 
escort  on  his  way  to  Dublin ; and  his  coadjutor  and 
host,  the  successor  of  Mr.  Macarthy  in  treason,  has 
absconded.  But,  there  is  no  doubt,  the  vigilant  police 

* I,  Matthew,  Archbishop  of  Dublin* 


328 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  the  country  will  ferret  him  out  of  his  hiding-den.” 

The  detail  thus  given  by  Conway  Crawley,  with 
the  singular  circumstances  he  developed,  excited  a 
very  striking  emotion  in  the  English  part  of  his  au- 
ditory. A pause  of  a moment  ensued. 

Old  Crawley  pulled  down  his  wig,  and  stole  a sly 
glance  of  satisfaction  at  J udge  Aubrey.  Miss  Craw- 
ley, who  for  the  first  time  learned  that  her  saintly 
hero  was  a French  or  Spanish  spy,  grew  pale. 
Baron  Boulter  left  an  epigram  unfinished,  and  began 
to  lend  a serious  attention,  while  Lady  Dunore  ex- 
hausted herself  in  reiterated  exclamations  of  amaze- 
ment and  consternation. 

“ Only  conceive,  Georgy,  love,  a real  Spanish  monk, 
an  incendiary,  too  ! Good  heavens  ! how  extraordi- 
nary ! Do  you  know  I would  not  for  the  world  miss 
seeing  Yo  Mateo.  But  pray  go  on.” 

“ I believe'there  is  little  more  to  be  added,  madam. 
The  principal  facts  are  before  your  ladyship  and  the 
judges;  and  your  lordship,”  added  young  Crawley* 
insolently  turning  to  Judge  Aubrey,  “may  now  con- 
ceive the  propriety  of  our  not  dismissing  these  men, 
at  least  till  we  are  in  possession  of  the  principals  and 
leaders.” 

“ I see  no  more  reason  than  ever  for  detaining 
| them,”  returned  Judge  Aubrey.  “ But  I hope,  Mr. 
Crawley,  the  documents,  whose  copies  you  have  had 
the  trouble  to  make,  and  to  read,  have  not  actually 
been  sent  off  to  the  chief  secretary’s  office  by  military 
express.” 

“ They  are,  I hope,  by  this  time  nearly  in  his  pos- 
session,” returned  Conway  Crawley,  in  a tone  of  great 
elation. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


329 


“I  am  sorry  for  it,”  said  Judge  Aubrey,  coolly, 
“ very  sorry,  Mr.  Crawley ; for  as  far  as  my  black-let- 
ter Irish  studies  go,  and  if  my  memory  does  not 
wholly  fail  me,  you  have  copied  verbatim  some  ex- 
tracts from  the  Pacata  Hibernia  of  Robin  Oarew ; and 
you  have  transmitted  to  government  a faithful  account 
of  the  insurrection  of  the  celebrated  Florence  Mac- 
i arthy,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.” 

A burst  of  laughter,  in  which  all  joined,  save  the 
Crawleys,  followed  this  observation,  while  a voice  in 
the  distance  cried  out— 

“ To  be  sure  he  has ; sorrow  lie  there  is  in  that.” 
The  next  moment  O’Leary,  bustling  through  the 
crowd,  his  cotamore  slung  over  his  shoulder,  his  wig 
awry,  and  his  ferule  in  his  hand,  presented  himself  in 
the  centre  of  the  hall.  His  appearance  excited  consi- 
; derable  amusement ; for,  having  bowed  formally  to 
Lady  Dunore,  with  a tone  of  uncontrollable  irritation, 
he  turned  upon  young  Crawley,  exclaiming — 

u I!ll  trouble  you  for  my  documents,  Counsellor 
Con ; my  heads,  and  tails,  and  perorations ; my  notes, 
and  minutes,  and  memories,  for  my  genealogical  his- 
tory of  the  great  Macarthy  family,  written  in  the 
Phoenician  language,  vulgo-vocato  Irish.  What  call 
had  you  to  them  at  all  ? Dioui ! What  right  had 
you  to  break  open  my  box,  and  I not  in  it,  and  to 
purloin  my  codices  ? And  what  dirty  lucre  did  you 
expect  by  it,  Counsellor  ? If  it  wasn’t  out  of  fear 
that  I’d  tell  to  the  world  that  your  ould  grandfather, 
Paddy  Crawley,  took  some  of  the  property  of  the  late 
Earl  of  Clancare,  in  trust  for  him  during  the  painals 
(penals),  sir,  and  refused  to  restore  it  after  the  repail, 
which  was  the  first  step  he  got  in  the  world : and 


330 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


troth,  a dirty  step  it  was.  Now  answer  me  that? 
Counsellor  Con,  before  the  English  noblesse  here 
present.” 

“I  believe,  Mr.  Conway  Crawley,”  said  Judge 
Aubrey,  significantly,  “ we  may  dismiss  all  these  per- 
sons now.” 

Everybody  arose  and  came  forward,  good-naturedly 
amused  with  the  consternation  of  him  whose  preten- 
sion and  insolence  had  been  equally  entertaining  and 
imposing  a few  minutes  before.  Old  Crawley  almost 
buried  his  head  in  his  green  bag ; but  Conway,  though 
confused,  still  unsubdued,  came  forward,  and  address- 
ing Lady  Dunore,  who  was  now  laughing  with  Lord 
Frederick  and  Lady  Georgiana,  he  said,  “ I must  re- 
quest your  lordship’s  attention  and  patience  one  mi- 
nute more.” 

“ Oh  ! by  all  means,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  fluttering 
back  to  her  place.  “ I don’t  care  in  the  least  if  this 
trial  goes  on  forever.  I never  was  so  agitated  and 
so  amused  in  all  my  life ; now,  pray  all  sit  down. 
My  dear  Judge  Aubrey,  pray  resume  your  seat.” 

“All  that  your  ladyship  has  heard,”  continued  Con- 
way, “is  mere  invention,  mere  subterfuge- — Baron 
Boulter,  better  than  any  other,  must  be  aware  that 
it  is  so ; since  his  lordship,  as  senior  circuit  judge, 
has  granted  a bench  warrant  to  my  father  to  take 
up  the  incognito  Spanish  priest  upon  such  informa- 
tion as  his  lordship  certainly  deemed  sufficient.” 

“ I certainly  granted  a warrant  a few  days  back,5* 
said  Baron  Boulter,  with  a look  of  mortification,  “ on 
informations  sworn  by  one  Mr.  James  Bryan,  who 
holds  some  place  in  Mr.  Crawley’s  office,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  apprehending  a very  suspicions  character, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


331 


who,  without  any  visible  business,  or  means  of  live- 
lihood, has  for  some  time  been  lurking  about  this 
neighborhood.” 

This  confession  produced  a visible  change  in  the 
opinion  of  all  present,  while  an  expression  of  half- 
suppressed  emotion  distorted  the  countenance  of  old 
Crawley,  and  he  muttered,  in  acrimonious  tone,  to 
his  son : 

“ You  have  made  a pretty  kettle  of  fish  of  it,  now. 
What  the  devil  business  had  you  to  mention  that 
stranger  at  all,  at  all  ? Couldn't  you  let  him  go  on 
quietly  to  jail?  Troth,  your  gianius  will  get  you 
muzzled  yet,  great  a scholar  as  you  are,  Counsellor 
Con.” 

The  silence  which  Baron  Boulter’s  confession  had 
produced  was  now  suddenly  interrupted  by  a noise 
in  the  portico.  The  crowd  which  still  lingered  there 
gave  way  with  a spontaneous  and  respectful  motion, 
and  a person  of  singular  and  imposing  appearance 
advanced  boldly  up  the  hall,  followed  by  two  officers 
of  justice.  He  approached  the  table  where  the 
judges  sat,  removing  his  hat  with  one  hand,  and 
leaning  the  other  on  a pile  of  books,  and  in  a voice 
full,  clear  and  rapid,  he  said : 

“ I beg  to  present  myself  to  Baron  Boulter.” 

Mute  astonishment  trembled  upon  every  lip. 
Wonder  and  admiration  animated  every  eye.  All 
was  breathless,  eager  suspense,  but  O’Leary  alone 
moved,  and  placed  himself  near  the  object  of  attrac- 
tion, with  a look  in  which  wildness  and  triumph 
disputed  pre-eminence. 

Baron  Boulter  was  the  first  to  recover  presence  of 
mind,  and  he  replied,  “ My  name,  sir,  is  Boulter,  and 

< / 


332 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


I have  the  honor  to  hold  his  Majesty’s  commission, 
as  Baron  of  the  Exchequer.  I can  only  add,  sir,  that 
I shall  be  happy  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  so 
handsome  a man,  and  so  fine  a gentleman ; pray  be 
seated.” 

The  stranger  put  back  the  chair  presented  to  him. 

“ My  lord,”  he  said,  “ I am  a prisoner.  On  my 
arrival  in  this  district  this  morning,  and  in  my  way 
to  my  lodging  at  the  dwelling  of  this  person,  Te- 
rence Oge  O’Leary,  I was  arrested  on  a bench  war- 
rant of  your  lordship’s,  on  information  sworn  by  a 
notorious  informer,  who  was  condemned  for  perjury 
some  years  back,  and  was  saved  under  an  indemnity 
act  procured  by  his  employer,  Mr.  Crawley.  I shall 
obey  your  warrant,  my  lord,  if  you  acknowledge 
your  signature.  But  in  the  presence  of  this  assem- 
bly, I deny  that  you  have  any  authority  to  order 
the  arrest  of  any  man,  either  of  your  own  free  mo- 
tion, or  on  such  information  as  that  upon  wfiich  I 
am  now  a prisoner.  It  is  to  you,  therefore,  my  lord, 
I shall  look  for  responsibility.” 

“You  will  do  what  you  please,  sir,”  said  Baron 
Boulter,  firmly  and  coldly.  “ The  lav/  lies  open  to 
all  men.” 

“ And  we,  my  lord,”  interrupted  young  Crawley, 
trembling  with  rage  and  mortification,  while  his  fa- 
ther, pale  and  silent,  sat  with  his  eyes  bent  upon  the 
stranger ; “ and  we,  my  lord,  shall  find  precedents 
enough  in  this  country  to  defend  us.” 

“ In  this  country !”  interrupted  the  stranger  in  a 
loud  and  indignant  voice.  “ Has  this  country,  then, 
a set  of  by-laws  of  its  own  to  answer  the  purposes  of 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


333 


particular  individuals?  Are  not  the  laws  of  Eng- 
land the  laws  of  Ireland  ?” 

“ Officers,  do  your  duty,”  said  young  Crawley, 
authoritatively,  and  almost  incoherent  with  stifled 
I rage. 

“ I shall  accompany  your  officers,”  returned  the 
stranger  coolly,  “ and  I have  to  thank  them  for  their 
indulgence  which  has  confronted  me  with  Baron 
Boulter.  His  lordship,  I doubt  not,  has  been  im- 
posed upon;  but  for  the  rest  I am  aware  that  no 
man  shall  be  imprisoned  but  upon  the  lawful  judg- 
ment of  his  equals,  or  by  the  law  of  the  land.  This 
is  the  charter,  by  this  I shall  abide.”  Then  dropping 
his  extended  arm,  his  countenance  lost  all  the  stern- 
ness by  which  it  had  been  energized,  and  bowing 
gracefully  and  low  to  the  ladies,  he  added,  “ I trust, 
in  a moment  of  exigency  like  this,  I shall  be  forgiven 
if  I have  violated  the  laws  of  ceremony  in  asserting 
those  of  justice,  and  I offer  a thousand  apologies  to 
the  Marchioness  of  Dunore  and  her  distinguished 
circle  for  this  unseasonable  intrusion.” 

He  then  bowed  slightly  round  to  the  judges  re- 
spectfully, and  dropped  back  between  the  officers  of 
justice ; while  Lady  Dunore,  in  a fever  of  admiration, 
and  O’Leary,  in  the  delirium  of  strong  emotion,  both 
approached  him  as  he  retired;  but  the  deep  stern 
voice  of  Judge  Aubrey  arrested  his  steps. 

“ Stay,  sir,  you  are,  I apprehend,  a stranger  in  this 
country  ?” 

“ I am,  my  lord,  an  utter  stranger.” 

“You  have  then,  sir,  a prescriptive  right  to  cour- 
tesy and  protection,  in  a land  where  the  name  of 
stranger  is  still  held  sacred.  I have  no  doubt  my 


334 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


learned  brother  has  been  imposed  on.  His  confidence 
in  Mr.  Crawley’s  zealous  loyalty,  and  the  hurry  of 
business,  may  have  urged  him  to  give  a warrant  which 
I pronounce  to  be  illegal,  as  given  upon  the  testimony 
of  a convicted  perjurer.” 

“ You  cannot  prove  it,  Judge  Aubrey,”  exclaimed 
young  Crawley,  vehemently.  “You  would  set  aside 
all  judicial  privilege,  all  propter  dignitatem , of  the 
bench.” 

“ Sir,”  said  the  judge,  “ these  ebullitions  of  a mind, 
fraught  by  self-interest  with  arbitrary  notions,  are  not 
worthy  of  reply.  The  dignity  of  the  judicial  station 
can  only  be  degraded  by  him  who  holds  it.  I beg 
your  pardon,  sir,”  he  added,  hastily ; and  turning  to 
the  stranger,  “I  fear  I have  detained  you;  but  I 
would  impress  upon  your  mind,  that  the  judges  of  the 
land  are  the  natural  guardians  of  the  oppressed ; and 
I would  suggest  to  you  that,  by  giving  bail,  you  will 
be  spared  the  annoyance  and  inconvenience  of  a tem- 
porary imprisonment.” 

“ My  lord,”  said  the  prisoner,  “ I thank  you  for 
this  mark  of  consideration.  But  I have  already  said 
that  I am  an  utter  stranger  here;  where  then  should 
I seek  for  bail  ? Where  is  there  one  that  would  hold 
himself  responsible  for  a stranger  ?” 

“ I will,”  exclaimed  a voice  from  a distance ; and 
the  next  moment  the  hand  of  a young  and  very 
noble-looking  person  was  clasped  in  that  of  the 
stranger. 

“ And  pray,  who  are  you,  sir,”  demanded  young 
Crawley,  stepping  forward  with  a tone  and  demeanor 
of  the  pertest  effrontery. 

“ I am,”  said  the  party  interrogated,  throwing  his 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


335 


eyes  haughtily  over  his  questionist,  “ I am  Lord  Adelm 
Fitzadelm : pray  who  are  you  ?” 

The  elder  stranger  started  back  with  astonishment, 
while  among  the  general  bursts  of  exclamation,  which 
rang  through  the  hall,  the  shrieks  of  Lady  Dunore 
were  predominantly  audible.  She  threw  herself  into 
her  son’s  arms,  as  much  transported  by  the  theatrical 
scene  of  his  unexpected  appearance  as  if  she  had  not 
for  months  intrigued  his  absence.  She  wept  and 
laughed  with  hysterical  alternation,  presenting  him 
to  those  he  already  knew,  and  to  those  he  had  never 
seen  before.  Then  turning  to  the  stranger,  she  ad- 
dressed him  as  Don  Yo  Mateo,  Archbishop  of  Dub- 
lin, asked  a thousand  pardons,  welcomed  him  to  Du- 
nore, and  went  on  repeating,  “ was  there  ever  any- 
thing so  charming?  anything  so  delightful!  This  is 
Ireland  par  example ! Delightful  Ireland,  where  one 
is  never  safe  and  never  ennuyee  for  a single  mo- 
ment !” 

Meantime  the  hall  was  cleared : the  company  at 
the  castle,  Lord  Adelm,  his  friend,  the  officers  of  jus- 
tice, and  O’Leary,  were  nearly  all  that  remained.  The 
latter  stood  in  the  background  transfixed  and  pale,  a 
monument  of  consternation,  and  motionless  as  death, 
save  that  his  quick  glancing  eyes  turned  alternately 
from  Lord  Adelm  to  his  guest,  and  from  his  guest  to 
Lord  Adelm. 

“ But  who  is  your  friend  ?”  asked  Lady  Dunore, 
eagerly,  and  interrupting  Lord  Adelm’s  details  of  his 
journey,  and  pointing  to  the  stranger,  who  stood  talk- 
ing to  J udge  Aubrey.  “ Is  he  a real  Spanish  monk  ? 
Sure  you  are  not  implicated  in  this  rebellion,  which  is 
found  out  to  be  no  rebellion  at  all.” 


% 

836  , FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 

These  questions  were  repeated  by  every  eye,  if  not 
by  every  tongue. 

“ Allow  me  to  present  my  mother  to  you,”  said 
Lord  Adelm,  taking  the  stranger’s  hand.  “ The  I 
Marchioness  of  Dunore, — General  Fitzwalter,  of  | 
South  America,  that  brave  guerilla  chief,  whose  life  ; 
and  fortune  have  been  devoted  to  South  American  ■ 
independence.  He  is  doubtless  already  known  to  you 
by  fame,  as  he  is  in  the  Terra  Firma,  by  the  glorious 
sobriquet  of  the  Librador.” 

Something  like  amazement  was  depicted  in  the 
countenance  of  the  stranger,  while  he  went  through 
the  forms  of  presentation,  and  listened  to  this  detail  J 
of  himself. 

Lord  Adelm  continued : “ I do  not  believe,  how- 
ever, that  my  friend  aspires  to  the  double  influence 
of  the  crosier  and  the  sword.  If,  at  least,  he  am- 
bitions the  Archbishopric  of  Dublin,  in  the  course  of 
our  travelling  companionship  (for  we  came  to  this 
country  together),  he  has  not  made  me  his  confidant.” 

“ Travelling  companionship  !”  muttered  old  Craw- 
ley, with  a look  of  alarm,  while  Lady  Dunore  reiter- 
ated welcomes  and  exclamations  of  delight,  surprise 
and  wonder. 

The  question  of  bail  was  then  resumed ; and  a form 
being  prepared,  Lord  Fitzadelm  signed  the  paper : 
but  this  was  not  sufficient,  as  the  instrument  required 
two  securities. 

“ Oh !”  cried  Lady  Dunore,  gayly,  “ I’ll  be  bail  for 
the  Archbishop,  that  is,  for  the  General : give  me  the 
pen — only  think  how  odd  ! and,  you,  Georgy,  shall 
be  another.” 

Young  Crawley,  however,  gravely  demonstrated 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


887 


the  illegality  of  her  tender,  and  stated  that  female 
hail  was  not  usual. 

“ Well,  well,  Mr.  Conway  Crawley,  you  happen  to 
be  monstrously  unaccommodating  to-day,  and  very 
tiresome,’  interrupted  Lady  Dunore,  “ hut  I suppose 
it  must  he  so.  Then  do  you,  Mr.  Crawley,  if  you 
please,  sign  for  me.  I imagine  that  will  do  as  well. 
I mean  Crawley  pere.” 

The  tone  and  manner  in  which  this  request  wms 
given  were  too  peremptory  to  be  resisted ; and  old 
Crawley,  to  his  own  amazement  and  consternation, 
became  bail  for  the  person  whose  arrest  had  taken 
place  at  his  own  instance,  while  he  mentally  observed, 
“ Well  this  bates  Banagher  anyhow.’  * 

Young  Crawley,  in  the  meantime,  had  left  the  table 
and  was  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with  his 
aunt  apart. 

Baron  Bou&er  was  profuse  in  his  apologies,  spoke 
with  some  harshness  of  the  two  Crawleys  for  being 
led  away  by  over  loyalty,  offered  to  discharge  the 
warrant  altogether,  and  asked  the  General  on  a vish 
to  his  house  whenever  he  should  come  to  Dublin. 

To  the  discharge  of  the  warrant,  General  Fitzwal- 
ter  firmly  objected:  the  transaction,  he  observed, 
must  be  followed  to  its  consequences.  To  the  prof- 
fered hospitality  he  returned  a polite  answer,  as 
general  in  its  terms  as  the  proposition  to  which  it 
replied. 

Judge  Aubrey  sat  still,  in  silent  triumpn;  the 
ladies’  eyes  were  all  turned  on  the  guerilla  chief,  and 
Lord  Rosbrin,  seeing  everything  in  a dramatic  point 

* A common  Irish  expression,  applied  to  the  doing  of  an  ex- 
traordinary thing. 


338 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  view,  talked  of  situations,  incidents  and  clap-traps. 

Lord  Fitzadelm  now  came  forward,  and  seconded 
by  his  mother,  pressed  General  Fitzwalter,  with 
earnest  solicitation,  to  make  Dunore  Castle  his  resi- 
dence while  he  remained  in  the  country ; but  before 
he  could  reply,  the  attention  of  all  was  suddenly  at- 
tracted to  the  recess  of  the  painted  window,  by  one 
of  the  bailiffs  observing  to  Mr.  Crawdey  : 

“ Now,  what  am  I to  do  with  that  taymale  prisoner 
in  the  hall  window,  plaze  your  honor,  that  we  took 
up  according  to  order,  Mr.  Crawley,  going  into 
Terence  Oge’s  a little  bit  ago,  and  wouldn’t  tell  her 
name,  sir,  nor  show  her  face,  only  just  axed  lave,  sir, 
to  send  a bit  of  a message  to  Castle  Macarthy,  sir,  to 
the  Bhan  Tierna,  by  a bit  of  a gossoon,  sir,  and  is 
cooped  up  there  forenent  you,  Mr.  Crawley  ?” 

“ You  may  do  with  her  what  you  please,  Larry  Cos- 
tello,” replied  Mr.  Crawley,  in  a dejected  and  absent 
tone,  and  still  under  the  influence  of  profound  chagrin 
amazement  and  alarm,  which  were  all  depicted  in  his 
countenance. 

Larry  Costello  “ plazed”  to  let  out  the  prisoner  from 
the  dock  where  Lord  Rosbrin  had  placed  her,  and  to 
give  her  her  liberty,  when  Lord  Frederick,  interfer- 
ing, said  : “i>y  Jupiter,  this  lady  rebel  has  as  good  a 
right  to  a fair  trial  by  jury  as  the  rest ; and  I vote 
that  we  take  our  seats,  and  empannel  forthwith  for 
the  cause  of  this  Pucelle  de  Bally  dab  P 

“ Oh ! by  all  means  in  the  wrorld,”  said  Lady  Du- 
nore, unsatiated  by  scenes,  sensations,  and  surprises  : 
“ we  must  hear  the  Pucelle  de  Ballydab and  she 
took  her  son’s  arm,  who  seemed  satisfactorily  to  have 
accounted  for  his  arrival ; for  to  whatever  he  had  said, 


FLORENCE  MACARTKY. 


339 


she  replied— “You  are  quite  right — exactly — cer- 
tainly. I am  delighted  to  see  you  here.” 

The  party  now  drew  up  in  a circle,  without  resum- 
ing their  seats,  while  the  poor  woman,  apparently  in- 
timidated, and  wishing  to  conceal  herself,  was  led 
forward  for  examination  by  Larry  Costello,  who  en- 
deavored to  encourage  her  by  repeating  r “ Hold  up 
your  head,  now,  honey.  Sure  there’s  money  bid  for 
you.  If  the  Bhan  Tierna  will  stand  up  for  you,  sor- 
row thing  you  have  to  fear,  ma’am.  I’ll  engage  she’ll 
carry  you  through,  and  well.  Only  just,  sure,  if  you 
don  t show  your  face,  their  lordships  will  not  see  it. 
agrah.” 

Larry  Costello,  who  was  as  easy  in  the  presence  of 
his  superiors  as  the  lower.  Irish  usually  are,  with  very 
little  ceremony  now  pulled  back  her  grey  hood,  and 
the  straw  bonnet  it  covered  fell  to  the  ground,  disco- 
vering, not  the  coarse  features  of  an  Irish  peasant, 
but  such  a head  and  countenance  as  might  have  be- 
longed to  that 

“ Rare  Egyptian,  the  serpent  of  old  Nile.” 

The  immediate  expression,  however,  of  this  singu 
lar  countenance  was  confusion ; but,  though  the  eyes 
were  ri vetted  to  the  earth,  and  a color,  changeful  as 
thought,  indicated  the  excess  of  bashful  womanly  em- 
barrassment, yet  the  acute  smile  that  for  a moment 
gleamed  and  vanished,  and  a certain  air  of  mockery 
and  shrewdness  which  seemed  the  natural  involun- 
1 tary  expression  of  the  irregular,  but  pretty  features, 
combined  to  present  a model  for  one  of  those  happy 
pictures  of  gipsy  beauty,  where  “ fancy  outworks 
nature,”  and  mingles  with  the  admiration  which  its 
equivocal  charms  attract  from  the  spectator,  some- 


340 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


thing  of  fear,  if  not  of  distrust.  Amazement,  univer- 
sally and  almost  audibly  expressed,  followed  the  sud- 
den apparition  of  this  unexpected  vision. 

“ The  Bhan  Tierna ! by  the  powers !”  exclaimed 
Larry  Costello,  in  consternation,  and  respectfully 
withdrawing  from  the  prisoner’s  side. 

“ Lambh  Laidar  Aboo  !”  shouted  O’Leary,  throw- 
ing up  his  wig  instead  of  his  hat  in  an  ecstasy  of 
triumph. 

“ Lady  Clancare !”  cried  Judge  Aubrey,  coming 
forward,  and  taking  her  hand  with  an  air  of  kindness 
and  protection. 

“ Lady  who  ?”  said  the  marchioness.  “ Lady  Clan- 
care  did  you  say  ? Good  heavens ! it  cannot — it  is — 
my  dear,  charming  odd,  out  of  the  way  Lady  Clan- 
care  : I have  no  words  to  express  my  delight.  To 
meet  you  here  of  all  places  in  the  world ! a prisoner, 
too  ! a rebel  chief fcainess,  perhaps  ! Oh ! it’s  quite 
too  good ! Isn’t  it,  Georgy,  love  ? One  never  meets 
with  such  things  in  London.  But  where  are  you 
come  from  ? How  fat  you  are  grown  ! Why  did  you 
disappear  so  suddenly,  when  you  had  obtained  such  a 
grand  sncces  in  London  ? Do  you  know,  people  said 
all  sorts  of  odd  things  of  you?  No  one  could  make 
you  out  in  the  least ; and  your  pretty,  pretty  tales, 
and  stories,  and  things.  How  tanned  you  are  ! — how 
well  you  look  ! Georgy,  love,  don’t  you  know  Lady 
Clancare,  who  made  the  frais  of  my  two  last  assem- 
blies ? And  my  forgetting  you  too,  dear  Lady  Clan- 
care, so  completely,  when  you  were  out  of  sight,  it’s 
so  very  odd,  isn’t  it,  Georgy;  but  one  forgets  every- 
thing in  London,  except  what  one  sees  every  day.” 

To  this  Georgy  assented,  at  the  same  time  renew- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


341 


ing  a very  slight  acquaintance  with  Lady  Clancare, 
formed  at  Lady  Dunore’s  parties  in  town. 

While  the  ceremonies  of  recognition,  and  the  mul- 
tiplicity of  Lady  Dunore’s  questions,  afforded  to  the 
young  Irish  peeress  a moment  of  self-collection,  her 
spirits  rallied ; but  still,  as  she  threw  round  her  eyes, 
there  was  an  air  of  “ tongue-tied  simplicity  ’ in  her 
eloquent  Hsilence,  which  contrasted  with  the  expres- 
sive character  of  her  countenance. 

Her  emotion  seemed  something  beyond  the  natural 
confusion  incidental  to  her  actual  position,  and  she 
turned  her  eyes  with  a glance  of  supplication  on 
Lady  Dunore,  as  if  soliciting  her  interposition,  to 
withdraw  her  from  a situation  where  every  look  was 
turned  on  her ; where  she  formed  the  centre  of  a 
circle  evidently  animated  by  idle  curiosity  and 
amused  amazement. 

Lady  Dunore,  flattered  by  the  claim  made  on  her 
protection,  and  understanding  it,  drew  her  a little  on 
one  side,  listened,  smiled,  laughed  aloud  at  some  de- 
tail which  Lady  Clancare  related  in  a low,  murmur- 
ing voice,  and  with  a countenance  varying,  animated, 
and  humorous ; while  to  the  conclusion  of  her  rela- 
tion, whatever  it  had  been,  Lady  Dunore,  gently 
leading  her  back  to  the  group,  replied : 

“ Don’t  make  the  least  apology.  Oh  ! no,  its  better 
as  it  is,  a thousand  times.  This  impromptu  is  worth 
an  hundred  formal  premeditated  visits ; besides,  all 
this  never  could  happen  but  in  Ireland.  It  was  so 
kind  in  you,  to  suffer  yourself  to  be  taken  prisoner 
too— you  are  always  so  amusing.  But  who  are  you, 
my  dear  creature,  for  I forgot  to  ask  you  when  in 
London?  You  know,  Georgy,  love,  one  doesn’t  want 


342 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


to  know  wrho  people  are  in  London,  especially  Lions. 
But  are  you  really  Irish,  my  dear  Lady  Clancare  ?” 

“ Irish  !”  exclaimed  O’Leary,  with  a burst  of  emo- 
tion beyond  all  power  of  control ; and  darting  for- 
ward, “ ay,  troth  is  she  Irish,  body  and  soul.  Irish 
by  birth,  by  blood,  and  by  descent.  Irish  every  inch 
of  her,  heart  and  hand,  life  and  land ! ^nd  though 
the  mother  that  bore  her  was  Iberian  born,  Bachal 
Essu ! she  was  Milesian,  like  herself,  descended  from 
the  Tyrian  Hercules : and  there  she  stands,  the  dar- 
ling of  the  world,  with  the  best  blood  of  Spain  and 
Ireland  flowing  through  her  veins.  A true  Irish 
woman,  that  loves  her  country,  and  lives  in  it,  long 
life  to  her ! and  an  ancient  ould  countess  to  boot,  in 
her  own  right,  Anno  1565,  Elizabeth,  Regime  6;  the 
lineal  heir  of  Florence  Macarthy  More,  the  fogh  na 
galla , and  the  King  of  the  Desmondi,  to  this  blessed 
hour.” 

A smile  played  over  the  countenance  of  Lady 
Clancare,  who  retreated  a few  steps,  as  this  address 
again  brought  every  eye  on  her,  and  again  covered 
her  with  confusion. 

“ And  who  are  you,  you  delightful  creature  ?”  cried 
Lady  Dunore,  walking  round  O’Leary  with  her  glass 
to  her  eye,  and  more  than  sharing  in  the  general  sur- 
prise and  amusement  occasioned  by  his  sudden  ap- 
pearance and  speech. 

“ Who  am  I,  madam,  is  it  ?”  said  O’Leary,  firmly, 
but  respectfully : “ I am  Terence  Oge  O’Leary,  plaze 
your  ladyship,  of  the  Pobbie  O’Learys,  of  Clancare, 
county  Kerry,  anciently  Cair-Reight,  from  Cair-na- 
Louchra-Macarthy,  who  was  King  of  Munster,  Anno 
Mundi  1525,  Koah  Rege,  and  am  tributary  and 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


343 


seneachy,  or  genealogist  to  the  Macarthys,  before  the 
English  was  heard  of,  Anno  Domini  1166,  Hen. 
secundo  Rege;  and  defies  Johannes  "Major  gcotus, 
and  Master  Camden,  Dr.  Ledwitch,  and  Sir  Richard 
Musgrave,  to  deny  that,  anyhow,  the  thieves  of  the 
world ! with  ould  Saxo  Grammaticus  to  back  them  : 
and  am  at  the  present  speaking,  a poor  Irish  school- 
master, Ludi  Magister , of  Monaster-ny-Oriel ; and 
lastly,  plaze  your  ladyship,  madam,  I am  a servi- 
tor in  the  great  Norman  family  of  the  Fitzadelms, 
being  fosterer,  (his  voice  faltered) — fosterer,  madam, 
of  him,  who,  though  he  now  lies  low  in  the  ocean, 
with  none  but  himself,  and  the  winds  of  heaven  to 
moan  over  him,  yet,  if  he  had  his  right,  would  now 
be  reigning  here  in  this  very  castle ; I mean  "the — ” 

Here  General  Fitzwalter  advanced  in  front  of 
O’Leary,  leaning  on  Lord  Fitzadelm’s  arm.  O’Leary 
started  back : his  voice  dropped,  his  color  changed, 
and  he  paused  abruptly.  The  general  took  the  place, 
from  which  O’Leary  had  involuntarily  retreated ; and 
some  low-whispered  words  from  Lady  Clancare  to 
the  marchioness,  who  had,  during  O’Leary’s  speech, 
drawn  the  arm  of  the  Irish  peeress  through  her  own, 
now  wholly  diverted  her  attention  from  the  last  of 
these  dramatis  personcz , which  the  happy  events  of 
this  eventful  day  had  brought  upon  the  stage. 

Withdrawing  from  the  circle,  the  two  ladies,  in 
earnest  conversation,  moved  towards  the  portico,  fol- 
lowed by  every  eye.  The  appearance  of  Lady  Clan- 
care  produced  an  instantaneous  effect  upon  the  crowd 
assembled  at  the  gates. 

The  report  had  gone  abroad  that  the  idol  of  popu- 
lar feeling  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  Mr.  Crawley, 


! 


344 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


and  brought  to  Dunore  Castle.  Hundreds  of  wild 
but  strong-affectioned  persons  had  gathered  for  her 
protection  and  rescue.  Thousands  were  at  her  ser- 
vice ; but  her  appearance,  leaning  on  Lady  Dunore’s 
arm,  lulled  every  fear  for  her  safety.  Cries  of  “ Bhan 
Tierna  go  Brack  /”  rent  the  air ; and  when  both  la- 
dies sprang  into  a little  cabriolet,  drawn  by  mules, 
(the  carriage  of  Lady  Clancare,  which  had  just  ar- 
rived,) the  name  of  the  Marchioness  of  Dunore, 
mingled  with  these  more  national  sounds,  and  “ long 
lives,”  and  “ long  reigns,”  were  liberally  distributed 
to  both  ladies. 

The  guests  of  the  castle  had  now  advanced  into 
the  portico  to  witness  this  singular  scene.  Lady 
Clancare  had  taken  the  reins ; and  while  Lady  Du- 
nore drew  her  cashmir  over  her  head  and  round  her 
shoulders,  her  new  friend  turned  her  extraordinary 
countenance  on  the  group  in  the  portico ; and  with  a 
mingled  expression  of  extreme  slyness  and  humor,  she 
threw  round  her  dark  eyes.  They  met  alternately 
the  looks  of  all  present;  till  at  last  fixing  their 
glances,  charged  with  a malicious  gaiety,  something 
between  triumph  and  derision,  on  old  Crawley,  she 
kissed  her  little  whip  in  salutation  to  all,  and  drove 
off  with  the  lady  of  the  castle,  both  laughing  loud 
and  violently. 

There  was  in  all  this  little  transaction  a something 
that  gave  a poetical  image  of  an  enchantress,  whose 
struggles  with  a rival  Ogre  finally  prevail ; and  Lady 
Clancare  looked  as  the  Titania  might  be  supposed  to 
look,  when,  on  Oberon’s  begging  from  her  the 
“ Little  changeling  boy  to  be  his  Henchman,” 

she  replies  in  the  triumph  of  conscious  possession, 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


345 


“ not  for  thy  fairy  kingdom !”  The  possession  of  Lady 
Dunore  seemed  to  her  desirable  as  the  changeling  boy 
to  the  fairy  king. 

With  the  departure  of  the  two  chieftainesses,  Eng- 
lish and  Irish,  the  rest  of  the  company,  somewhat 
fatigued,  and  infinitely  amused  by  the  events  ot  the 
morning,  dispersed,  except  the  members  of  the  Craw- 
ley family  who  still  remained  in  the  hall,  congregated 
in  close  conference. 

“ The  game’s  up,”  said  old  Crawley,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  spot  where  the  phantom  of  Lady  Clan- 
care  still  floated  before  him,  bearing  oif  the  marchio- 
ness : “ she  has  got  her  now,”  he  continued.  “ That’s 
the  way  she  took  my  lunatic  from  me,  whom  I’d  have 
had  to  this  day,  and  the  management  of  his  estate, 
only  for  her.  That’s  the  way,  too,  she  let  loose  the 
Rabragh  on  the  world,  with  the  help  of  Judge  Au- 
brey, just  the  ditto  of  herself.  Well,  the  devil  is  not 
able  for  her,  Christ  pardon  me ; and  believe  after  all 
she  is  the  devil  in  garnet,  if  the  truth  was  known.” 

“This  is  no  place  for  idle  talking,”  said  young 
Crawley,  at  last  overpowered  by  the  contentions  of 
the  day.  “ Follow  me  to  my  aunt’s  room ; you  see 
Lord  Rosbrin  is  still  in  the  portico — your  discom- 
fiture may  be  observed.”  He  then  left  the  hall  with 
his  silence-stricken  aunt  on  one  arm  and  his  green 
bag  under  the  other.  Old  Crawley,  after  a moment’s 
pause,  was  preparing,  with  a deep  sigh,  to  obey  the 
authoritative  commands  of  his  son,  when  Lord  Ros- 
brin entering  the  hall,  arrested  his  steps  with  a solemn 
beckoning  of  his  finger,  and  exclaiming  with  a signi- 
ficant air — 

“My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither.” 


346 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Crawley  involuntarily  obeyed  the  summons,  though 
by  no  means  liking  the  nom  dc  caresse  which  accom- 
panied it. 

“ Say,  my  fat  lad  of  the  castle,”  continued  Lord 
Rosbrin,  “ rememberest  thou  aught  in  scenic  effect 
more  striking  than  that  last  dramatic  incident;  I 
mean  the  old  woman  transformed  suddenly  into  a 
Roxalana,  or  an  Urganda  in  the  burletta  of  Cymon  ? 
Does  it  not  beat  the  screen  scene  in  the  School  for 
Scandal  hollow  ?” 

“ Hollow,”  replied  old  Crawley,  endeavoring  to 
extricate  his  button  from  Lord  Rosbrin’s  grasp. 

“ Rememberest  thou,”  proceeded  Lord  Rosbrin 
emphatically,  “rememberest  thou,  since  once  I sat 
upon  a promontory,  and  heard  a mermaid  on  a dol- 
phin’s back  uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious 
breath,  that  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song?’ 

“ Why,  then,  upon  my  credit,  I can’t  say  I do,” 
returned  Crawley,  with  another  impatient  effort  at 
release. 

“ That  very  time,”  continued  the  peer,  “ I saw— 
thou  couldst  not — flying  between  the  cold  moon  and 
the  earth ” 

At  the  word  moon  a sudden  conviction  of  the 
young  lord’s  lunacy  struck  on  Crawley’s  mind ; and 
bursting  away,  and  leaving  his  button  in  Lord  Ros- 
brin’s grasp,  he  muttered  as  he  went  along,  “ Devil  a 
bit,  but  I believe  it  is  full  moon  with  you  all,  men, 
women  and  children,  the  Lord  save  us  f” 

Lord  Rosbrin,  looking  after  him,  uttered  a stage 
laugh,  and  crying,  “ a fool,  a fool,  a motley  fool !”  re- 
tired to  his  dressing-room  to  clean  some  silver  span- 
gles, and  cut  out  foil  for  his  coronation  dress  in  Lady 
Macbeth, 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Lovers  and  madmen  have  such  seething  brains, 

Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
Mor^  than  cool  reason  comprehends. 

Shakspeare. 

While  the  guests  of  the  castle  dispersed  in  different 
directions,  Lord  Adelm  and  General  Fitzwalter  pro- 
ceeded arm  in  arm  together  across  the  castle  court 
to  a sort  of  terrace,  once  a rampart,  which  gave  on 
the  sea. 

This  rampart  opened  by  a door  upon  the  strand ; 
and  Lord  Adelm,  proposing  that  they  should  direct 
their  steps  beyond  the  reach  of  intrusion  or  observa- 
tion, was  endeavoring  to  draw  back  the  rusty  bolt, 
and  obtain  egress,  when  O’Leary,  with  his  hat 
squeezed  between  his  hands,  and  his  countenance 
distorted  by  agitation,  caught  the  general’s  eye  as 
he  followed  him  at  a short  distance. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ?”  asked  the  general,  turning 
back  on  his  steps,  and  meeting  the  approach  of  his 
host. 

“ The  matter,  my  lord  ! that’s  your  honor,  I mane 
gineral,  sir,  anyhow.  Nothing  is  the  matter,  gineral, 
only  great  times  and  great  luck,  sir ! and  the  young 
lord,  the  very  moral  of  the  honorable  Gerald,  his 
i father ; and  the  Crawley  pirates  foiled,  sir,  for  oncet ; 
and  I’d  only  crave  a word  with  your  honor,  gineral, 
since  it’s  a great  gineral  you  are,  sir,  and  was  a great 


848 


FLORENCE  MACARTHYe 


gineral  in  the  family  an  hundred  years  back  and 
more — that’s  the  ould  brigadier,  anno  1698,  in  armor 
this  day  at  Court  Fitzadelm,  only  no  frame — but 
stopping  a chimbley.  And  it’s  what  I’d  just  make 
bould  to  ax  your  honor,  and  never  will  trouble  you 
more,  sir,  plaze  God!  if  you  aren’t  the  young  lord 
that’s  laning  over  the  battlement,  waiting  for  you, 
gineral,  that  is  Lord  Fitzadelm,  sir  ?” 

“ O’Leary,”  said  General  Fitzwalter,  in  a soothing 
voice,  “ O’Leary,  put  on  your  hat  and  go  home.  My 
good  O’Leary,  I shall  shortly  follow  you  to  the 
friary  to  dress,  and  you  may  bespeak  me  a chaise  to 
bring  me  here  to  dinner.  And,  above  all,  O’Leary,” 
(and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  spoke, 
his  voice  softening  into  a tone  of  great  affection,) 
“ take  care  of  the  health  and  life  of  a person  who  is 
very  dear — that  is,  very  necessary  to  me,  O’Leary.” 

“ And  who  is  that  ?”  said  O’Leary,  eagerly.  “ Is 
it  th’  aigle,  gineral?  Sure  he’s  dead,  sir.  Poor 
Cumhal’s  dead  at  last,  your  honor;”  and  the  tears 
dropped  large  and  fast  from  his  eyes ; but  they  fell 
not  all  for  Cumhal.  The  tone  of  the  general’s  voice, 
and  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  had  been  too  much  for 
the  state  of  exultation  in  which  the  events  of  the 
morning  had  left  him;  and  the  death  of  his  old 
companion  furnished  him  with  an  excuse  for  weep- 
ing, which  relieved  his  heart,  weighed  down  with 
oppression. 

“ Dead !”  repeated  the  general : “ poor  old  Cum 
hal  ?” — he  sighed,  and  added,  absently,  “ it  was  much 
such  an  evening  as  this,  and  such  a coast,  too  : poor 
Cumhal — dead  ?” 

“ Och  ? you  need  not  moan  him,  gineral,”  said 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


849 


O’Leary,  reproachfully:  “he’s  better  provided  for 
nor  them  he’s  left  behind  him,  sir.  For  shure,  he 
wasn’t  shook  off  like  a withered  leaf  from  a young 
tree,  and  rejected  by  him,  that  was  reared  on  his 
milk,  that’s  my  wife’s  milk,  sir.  And  thought,  troth, 
we’d  break  our  hearts  the  day  he  was  weaned ; and 
we  sent  back  to  St.  Crohan’s ; and  wasn’t  long  till  he 

followed  us  there,  and ” 

“ You  are  much  altered  since  we  met,  since  we  first 
met  in  the  mountains,  O’Leary,”  interrupted  the 
general,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  a countenance,  where 
the  perpetual  conflict  of  revived  feelings,  vague  doubts, 
and  uncertain  hopes,  had  made  great  ravages  : “ you 
are  not  well,  my  dear  O’Leary.” 

“ That’s  it,  plaze  your  honor,  I am  not  well,  surely, 
sir,”  said  O’Leary,  eagerly,  “ and  thinks,  betimes,  that 
it’s  the  lycanthropia  I have  got,  which  Maister  Cam- 
den saith  was  common  to  the  ancient  Irish.”* 

“We  will  talk  this  matter  over  to-night,  O’Leary,” 
said  the  general,  answering  the  impatient  beckon  of 
Lord  Adelm’s  hand ; “ or  to-morrow,  or  at  no  distant 
period  : and  you  shall  be  well  again,  O’Leary,  and  be 
gay  and  contented,  as  I first  found  you,  in  the  midst 
of  your  learned  disciples ; and  you  shall  change  your 
scene,  too  : you  shall  travel  with  me  to  other  coun- 
tries ; and  then  you  will  return  to  Ireland,  and  finish 
your  genealogical  history  of  the  Macarthies,  and  dedi- 
cate it  to  that  very  ancient,  old  Countess  of  Clancare, 
in  whose  favor  you  were  so  eloquent  to-day ; and  by 
all  means  get  her  picture  if  you  can,  for  your  title 
page ; I promise  you  it  will  sell  your  book.” 

* The  disease  of  the  wolf — an  imaginary  malady  attributed  to 
the  ancient  Fish, 


350 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


With  these  words,  gayly  pronounced,  he  left  him 
whom  they  had  cheered,  before  he  had  time  to  reply ; 
and,  joining  the  impatient  Lord  Adelm,  they  pro- 
ceeded along  the  shore  together. 

There  was  a magic  in  the  name  of  the  Macarthies 
that  operated  like  a spell  upon  the  ideas  and  feelings 
of  O’Leary,  and  drew  him  from  the  remembrance  of 
his  own  griefs.  It  now  had  its  wonted  effect ; and 
O’Leary,  as  he  left  the  castle  gates,  with  his  usual 
ghost,  heavy  step,  and  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
back,  murmured  to  himself: 

“My  genealogical  history  of  the  Macarthies,  in 
troth ; and  never  tould  me  a word  since  he  came  of 
the  Ogygia  of  the  great  O’Flaherty,  nor  the  Histoire 
cCIrlande , by  Abbe  MacGeoghegan : how  could  he, 
and  he  in  jeopardy  of  the  Crawleys  ? And  my 
codices  sent  to  the  Lord  Deputy,  that’s  the  Lord 
Lieutenant;  and  troth,  I think  they’ll  astonish  him. 
And  the  Bhan  Tierna,  after  all,  at  the  castle  of  them 
Dunores,  after  keeping  out  of  their  way,  and  then  cir- 
cumventing the  Crawleys  : ay,  ‘ still  on  the  necks  of 
the  Butlers,’  Dioul ! and  carrying  off  the  great  lady 
to  herself,  when  its  what  she  couldn’t  help  appearing 
before  her ; and  letting  himself  be  taken,  and  turning 
bad  to  good,  always  after  her  ould  fashion.  A Mac- 
arthy  in  the  halls  of  the  Fitzadelms : Bachal  Essu ! 
Wonders  will  never  cease  ! 

‘ Turne  quod  optanti  divum  promittere  nemo 
Auderet,  volvenda  dies  en  attulit  ultro.’ 

And  to  see  her  standing  in  the  midst  of  them  Boddie 
Sassoni,  just  like  a young  scion  of  an  old  oak  on  the 
boggras,  flourishing  lonely  and  green  among  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


351 


scraws  and  briers  that  have  sprung  up  in  a night  sai- 
son,  like  mushrooms.” 

While  O’Leary  was  thus  soliloquizing  his  wTay  to 
the  Dunore  Arms,  where  a crowd  was  assembled,  re- 
lating and  listening  to  the  extraordinary  events  that 
had  taken  place  at  the  castle,  the  two  adventurous 
fellow-travellers  were  pursuing  their  walk  up  and 
! down  the  sea-shore.  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm,  occu- 
pied with  himself  and  his  own  views,  as  those  usually 
are  who  have  long  engrossed  the  world’s  attention, 
and  have  become  the  spoiled  children  of  society,  was 
eager  to  pour  the  confidences  of  his  self-love  into  his 
companion’s  patient  ear ; and,  taking  his  arm,  as  they 
passed  through  the  postern  gate,  he  entered  at  once 
upon  the  history  of  his  feelings,  and  of  his  life,  since 
they  had  parted  at  Court  Fitzadelm. 

“ I am  ordinarily  but  little  influenced,”  he  observed, 
“ by  the  ebb  or  flow  of  joy  or  sadness,  which  govern 
the  capricious  tide  of  human  affections  in  the  every- 
day children  of  the  world ; yet  I am  glad,  sincerely 
glad,  to  see  you  here : glad  that  it  may  be  in  my 
power  to  return  some  part  of  the  hospitable  rites 
which,  as  a stranger,  I received  at  your  hands ; and 
happy  that  my  timely  presence  has  been  the  means 
of  saving  you  from  at  least  a temporary  incon- 
venience, and  rescuing  you  from  some  intrigue  of  my 
mothers  friends,  the  Crawley’s,  which  might  have  in- 
volved you  in  transient  vexations,  though  eventually 
they  must  have  fallen  of  themselves  into  insignifi 
cance.” 

“ I am  not  quite  so  certain  of  that,”  returned  Gen- 
eral Fitzwalter ; “had  they  succeeded  in  shutting  me 
up  at  the  present  moment,  they  might  have  crossed 


352 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


me  in  pursuits,  to  myself  at  least,  big  with  import- 
ance. They  might  have  succeeded  in  throwing  sus- 
picion on  my  character,  which,  at  a future  moment, 
might  have  invalidated  my  testimony  when  all  but 
honor  will  be  at  stake.  Their  motives  of  action  are, 
however,  still  a mystery.” 

“ To  me  it  seems  impossible,”  replied  Lord  Adelm, 
“ that  you  could  come  into  the  sphere  of  intrigue  of 
these  reptiles.  The  admiral  of  the  gallant  fleet  of 
Martingaria,  the  general-in-chief  of  the  guerilla  troops 
of  the  mighty  Cordilleras,  a warrior,  a patriot,  in  a 
word,  you  in  the  power  of  the  Crawleys ! This  is  a 
solecism  not  easily  understood,  and 

‘ Comes  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief.’  ” 

“ You  measure  my  character  by  the  elevation  of 
the  great  regions  in  which  it  was  developed ; and  as- 
sociate me  personally  with  the  glorious  cause  in  which 
I was  involved.  But  how  came  you  by  these  facts  ? 
Where  did  you  learn  that  the  commodore  of  the  Li- 
brador  had  once  commanded  the  little  fleet  of  Martin- 
garia, or  had  been  distinguished  by  an  higher  com- 
mand among  the  cloud-imbosomed  Cordilleras  ?” 

“ Where  ?”  repeated  Lord  Adelm,  with  animation, 
“ and  how  ? Why  may  not  I have  my  Egeria,  or  my 
daemon,  as  well  as  another  ? for  if  I obtained  not  my 
information  through  superhuman  agency,  faith,  I know 
not  how  I got  it,  or  came  by  it.” 

“ You  speak  enigmas.” 

“ I have  lived  in  them  of  late.” 

“ And  the  sphinx  who  has  presided  over  them  is 
still,  I suppose,  Mrs.  Magillicuddy,”  said  Fitzwalter, 
ironically. 

“ Not  exactly,”  replied  Lord  Adelm  dryly,  “ except 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


353 


Mrs.  Magillicuddy  be  a sort  of  petite-viaitresse  sphinx, 
fanciful  and  elegant  as  she  is  mysterious  and  power- 
ful : one,  for  example,  wdio  traces  4 thoughts  that 
breathe,  and  words  that  burn,’  upon  paper  that 
blushes  roses  and  smells  of  them ; one  who  takes  for 
her  device,  love  depriving  flowers  of  their  thorns, 
and  for  her  motto,  4 Sou  utile  ainda  que  briccando .’  ” 

The  general  started : and  Lord  Adelm,  producing 
a small  embroidered  letter-case,  took  from  it  three 
billets,  written  on  rose-colored  paper,  and  literally 
breathing  odors.  The  seal  and  motto,  to  which  he 
pointed,  were  no  strangers  to  the  general’s  eyes. 

44  I might,”  he  continued,  44  show  you  the  contents 
of  these  billets ; for  with  the  exception  of  a few  de- 
tailed facts,  they  are  vague  and  mysterious  as  Delphic 
oracles,  but  that  I hold  them  sacred  to  the  very  mys- 
ticism they  profess.  In  style  they  are  almost  too 
fanciful,  light,  and  delicate,  even  for  a woman's  dicta- 
tion, though  at  the  same  time  in  substance  obscure  as 
diplomatic  ciphering.  In  short,  I am  lost  in  wild  con- 
jecture.” 

44  Oh  ! I see  Queen  Mab  hath  been  with  you,”  ob- 
served the  general,  laughing.  44  Are  you,  then,  become 
a devotee  to  a more  philosophical  sect  than  the  school 
of  faery,  one  of  the  illuminati,  the  invisible  brothers, 
the  fratres  roris  cocti , whose  communion  is  confined 
to  sprites,  sylphs,  and  gnomes,  and  whose  secret  of 
all  human  good  lies  in  the  essence  of  concocted 
dew  ?” 

44  ISTa y,  you  may  laugh  as  you  will;  but  I hold  the 
principles  of  the  Rosicrucian  philosophy  in  high  re- 
spect. Whatever  elevates  the  imagination,  whatever, 
raising  us  above  the  grovelling  lot  of  earthly  exist* 


854 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


ence,  unites  us  to  a spiritual  world,  shakes  off  th^ 
dross  of  mere  humanity,  purifies  and  refines  our  na- 
ture ; and  is  at  least  a glorious  illusion.  I do  not,  I 
confess,  blush  to  own  myself  the  dupe  of  those  high- 
wrought  dreams  of  physical  possibility  which  inspired 
Numa  in  his  grotto,  or  Socrates  in  his  cell ; and  I 
wish  not,  at  this  moment,  to  dissipate  the  impression 
that  there  may,  that  there  does  exist  for  me,  some 
creature  of  ether  and  light,  some  legitimate  child  of 
the  spheres,  which,  always  invisibly  nigh,  watches 
over  my  sunless  life  path,  throwing  a ray  over  the 
heart’s  dark  desolation,  and  shining  upon  the  ruins  of 
memory,  like  the  gleam  that  now  falls  upon  that  tot- 
tering pile  before  us.” 

“ It  talks  well : but  one  real  lovely  woman  is  worth 
it  all,”  said  the  general,  reddening  as  he  spoke,  from 
the  energy  of  his  feeling  : “ but  your  invisible  sylph, 
if  sylph  you  will  have  her,  seems  to  me  a malicious 
little  imp,  and  more  like  the  1 shrewd  and  knavish 
sprite  called  Robin  Goodfellow,”  than  a delicate 
serial ; for  she  has  led  you  a dance 

1 Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Through  bush,  through  brier, 

Over  park,  over  pale, 

Through  flood,  through  fire,’ 

without  any  apparent  object  in  her  agency,  if  it  be 
not  to  amuse  her  own  splenetic  gaiety,  or  to  work 
upon  your  imagination.” 

“ Of  you,  at  least,”  said  Lord  Fitzadelm,  “ whether 
gnome  or  sylph,  or  woman,  she  merits  well ; for  you 
are  the  object  of  her  special  protection.” 

“ I !”  said  the  general,  starting — “ indeed  !” 

“ Judge  for  yourself.  Of  three  billets  received 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


855 


from  my  lovely  invisible  (for  lovely  she  must  be, 
whether  mortal  or  sprite),  one  led  me  from  Portugal 
to  Ireland,  by  informing  me  of  my  mother’s  intrigue 
to  smuggle  me  ben  gre , malgre  into  the  borough  of 
Glannacrime  ; another  fixed  my  residence  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Kilcoleman,  by  announcing  it  the 
native  region  of  my  guardian  spirit  (where,  by-the- 
bye,  I vainly  waited  her  brilliant  apparition),  and  the 
third  urged  my  instant  departure  for  Dunol*e,  by  in- 
timating that  my  travelling  companion,  General  Don 
Fitzwalter,  the  illustrious  South  American  chief,  was 
about  to  become  the  victim  of  the  loyal  suspicions  of 
the  petty  despots  of  the  place.  I was  not  surprised 
to  find  that  you  belonged  to  history,  and  immediately 
hastened  to  your  assistance ; too  late,  indeed,  to  warn 
you  of  your  danger ; but,  I trust,  in  time  to  avert  its 
consequences.” 

“ This  looks  like  magic,  indeed,”  said  the  general, 
after  a moment’s  pause.  u I had  no  reason  to  suppose 
I was  known  to  any  human  being  in  this  country, 
where  I have  concealed  my  name,  profession  and  title. 
But  I can  only  be  an  object  of  interest  to  this  power- 
ful spirit  inasmuch  as  she  supposes  me  your  friend. 
It  is  you  whom  she  has  led  from  Portugal  to  Ireland 
through  the  solitudes  of  the  Galtees,  amidst  the  shades 
of  Court  Fitzadelm : it  is  for  you  that  she  has  called 
spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,  in  the  questionable  shapes 
i of  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  and  Mr.  Owny.  She  had  pro- 
vided you  a lodging,  too,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Du- 
nore,  in  case  she  found  it  necessary  to  preserve  your 
incognito;  and  by  this  arrangement  I have  profited; 
for  my  host,  O’Leary,  till  he  saw  us  together,  insisted 
on  my  being  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm,  and  as  such  re- 


356 


FLORENCE  MAOARTHY. 


ceived  me  for  his  tenant,  which  he  would  not  other- 
wise have  done.” 

The  general,  as  he  spoke,  was  occupied  in  search- 
ing among  some  papers  for  the  mysterious  letter 
which  had  preceded  his  arrival  in  the  priory.  “ Here,”  j 
he  said,.  “ is  a letter  from  your  sylph,  not,  however, 
breathing  and  blushing  roses,  but  written  in  human 
characters  on  a material  substance,  and  respiring  turf 
smoke.  O’Leary,  who  is  a Rosicrucian  in  his  way, 
insists  that  it  came  from  ‘ the  good  people,’  the  de- 
signation of  Irish  faery.” 

Lord  Adelm  took  the  letter  in  surprise,  and  read  it 
with  emotion.  “ It  is,”  he  said,  “ the  writing  and  the 
seal.  May  I keep  this  letter?”  he  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

“ Oh,  certainly,”  replied  the  general,  carelessly,  “ it 
does  not  concern  me : you,  of  course,  will  find  out 
who  this  invisible  agent  is,  and  then ” 

“That  is  not  so  certain,”  interrupted  Lord  Fitz- 
adelm,  she  wraps  herself  in  impenetrable  seclusion, 
throws  a veil  of  mystery  over  her  motions  as  over 
her  person,  and  in  her  fanciful  epistles,  though  there 
is  much  to  excite  wonder,  there  is  nothing  to  feed 
hope,  further  than  the  interest  she  takes  in  me.” 

“ Interest,  indeed ! but  you  cannot  for  a moment 
consider  this  adventure  in  any  other  light  than  as 
a mere  bonne  fortune , however  singularly  it  has  been 
conducted.” 

“ Oh ! there  is  a satiety  in  that  thought,  in  that 
term  at  least;  and,  to  confess  the  truth,  I do  not 
wish  to  4 dull  the  delight  of  this  mystic  union  by  ex- 
ploring its  cause,’  or  assigning  it  a motive  or  object. 

I love  to  think  that  in  the  pauses  snatched  from  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


357 


tedium  of  society  I may  inhale  the  sigh  and  listen  to 
the  song  of  this  nymph  of  the  air,  as  I caught  the 
one  on  the  ruins  of  Holycross,  and  hung  upon  the 
other  amidst  the  desolation  of  Court  Fitzadelm ; for 
I am  convinced  of  her  presence  on  both  occasions, 
and  believe  that  our  communion  is  divine,  and  that 
our  alliance  will  become  immortal.” 

“ And  I,”  said  the  general  with  warmth,  “ I would 
not  give  up  the  idea  of  this  invisible  correspondent 
being  a woman,  a true  devoted  woman,  were  I in 
your  place,  to  be  an  object  of  adoration  to  a 1 world 
of  spirits.’  Were  I the  object  of  such  zeal,  vigilance 
and  devotion,  had  I called  forth  such  talent,  spirit  and 
ingenuity,  I would  not  long  remain  ignorant  of  my 

I invisible  guardian.  I would  force  my  way  through 
the  mystery  which  conceals  her,  I would  follow  her 
from  pole  to  pole,  over  alps  and  oceans,  or  remain 
fixed  and  rooted  to  the  spot  she  inhabited ; woo  her, 

win  her,  cling  to  her,  cherish  her ” 

“ And  marry  her,”  interrupted  Lord  Adelm,  yawn- 
ing. 

“ Marry  her  !”  repeated  the  general  in  a tone  as  if 
some  sudden  association  of  ideas  were  abruptly 
awakened  by  this  proposition ; then,  after  a pause,  he 
asked  abruptly — “ what  do  you  think  of  that  pretty 
but  extraordinary  looking  Lady  Clancare  ? Her  ap- 
pearance was  altogether  sudden  and  singular.” 

“ Oh ! she  struck  me  to  be  a mere  minaudiere ! 
some  stale  engouement  of  my  mother’s,  who  came  in 
this  extraordinary  way  upon  the  scene  merely  to 
make  a sensation,  and  startle  back  Lady  Dunore  into 
a faded  prepossession.  You  may  trust  me  on  the 
score  of  my  mother’s  fancies.  This  wild  Irish  peeress 


i 


358 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


has  been  one  of  the  lions,  I suppose,  of  a London 
season,  has  been  exhibited  for  her  brogue,  or  her 
howl,  or  shown  off  as  4 the  lady  whose  father  was 
hanged  in  the  rebellion.’  My  mother,  who  is  one  of 
the  reigning  autocrats  of  fashion,  brings  people  into 
vogue  upon  her  own  emotions,  as  the  old  Duchess  of 
G.  did  upon  a fiddle-string;  and  wTeeps  or  wonders 
them  into  notoriety,  as  her  grace  danced  them  into 
ton.  This  Lady  Ciancare  has  4 fretted  her  hour  upon 
the  stage,’  and  was  heard  no  more;  and  she  now 
issues  from  her  own  castle,  a prisoner  with  her  own 
consent,  into  ours ; merely  to  get  up  a scene,  and  oc- 
casion a rechauffe  in  my  capricious  mother’s  4 promptly 
cold  affections.’  ” 

44  She  seems,  however,  to  have  succeeded,  for  she 
carried  off  Lady  Dunore,  even  from  you,  who  were 
so  little  expected,  so  freshly  arrived,  and  so  raptur- 
ously received.” 

44  Oh ! that  is  quite  my  mother.  She  is  an  excellent 
person  in  her  way  ; but  in  her  engouements  her  feel- 
ings are — 

‘ Momentary  as  a sound, 

Swift  as  a shadow — short  as  any  dream.’ 

Be  not  you,  therefore,  misled  by  her  favor.  You  are 
made  to  win  it ; but  even  you  will  find  it  4 sweet  but 
not  pearmanent.’  ” 

44  I shall  not  remain  here  to  put  her  ladyship’s  sta- 
bility to  the  test.  I expect  my  little  vessel  round  by 
the  first  fair  wind,  and  then  I am  off.” 

“No,  no,”  interrupted  Lord  Fitzadelm,  “you  do 
not  mean  that.  You  will  not  leave  me  here  with 
dawdling  dandies,  and  cast  coquettes ; for,  save  my 
excellent  uncle  Daly,  and  Eversham,  wrho,  though  a 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


359 


coxcomb,  is  a perfect  gentleman,  the  whole  set-out  at 
Dunore  Castle  is,  I saw  at  a glance,  perfectly  detesta- 
ble ; but  that  I am  spellbound  here,  I would  fly  off 
with  you  to  South  America  to-morrow.” 

u And  your  election ?”  * 

“ I have  not  even  thought  of  that  yet.  If  I am  re^ 
turned,  however,  I shall  pursue  my  own  course : if  I 
am  worsted,  I shall  be  left  to  follow  it ; but  all  de- 
pends upon  how  my  mother  stands  implicated  : what 
is  done  cannot  be  undone : for  the  present,  however, 
other  objects  touch  me  more  nearly.” 

The  castle  bell  now  intimated  the  hour  for  dress- 
ing ; and  Lord  Adelm,  urging  the  general’s  quick  re- 
turn, subjoined  an  ardent  request  that  he  would  take 
up  his  residence  at  the  castle,  while  his  business  de- 
tained him  in  the  neighborhood. 

This  Fitzwalter,  with  his  wonted  tone  of  decision, 
promptly  refused.  He  insisted  upon  their  original 
stipulation,  Avhich  had  guaranteed  mutual  and  perfect 
freedom  of  action. 

“ How  necessary  it  is  to  me,”  he  continued,  “ your- 
self shall  judge.”  He  paused  for  a moment,  placed 
himself  between  Lord  Adelm  and  the  postern  gate, 
at  which  he  was  about  to  enter,  and  with  a low  voice, 
and  rapid  but  emphatic  enunciation,  he  continued — 

11 1 am  here  in  this  neighborhood  for  the  purpose  of 
recovering  my  birthright,  of  which,  in  my  boyhood, 

I was  fraudulently  bereaved.  I am  here  for  the  pur- 
pose of  dispossessing  a powerful  family  of  princely 
property,  title,  honors,  and  influence  of  vast  extent, 
which,  but  for  my  unexpected  reappearance  on  the 
scene,  would  in  right  be  theirs.  To  effect  this,  the 
testimony  of  the  lowly,  and  proofs  in  possession  of 


360 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  illiterate  and  the  prejudiced,  are  necessary.  My 
agents  lie  amongst  those,  purchasable  by  their  po- 
verty, or  assailable  by  their  simplicity.  My  oppo- 
nents are  among  the  great,  the  powerful,  the  noble, 
and  the  wily.  Vigor,  promptitude,  perseverance,  and 
secrecy,  are  the  arms  given  me  to  contend  with. 
Judge,  then,  how  necessary  to  my  views  are  perfect 
freedom,  obscurity  of  position,  and  disengagement  of 
mind.  I am  here  collecting  witnesses,  whom  I dare 
not  trust  with  the  secret  of  their  own  evidence. 
Brought  forward  in  society  in  this  country,  I should 
come  into  contact  with  those  *whom  I am  bound  not 
to  injure  (for  I come  but  to  claim  my  rights),  but  to 
dispossess : it  may  be  to  receive  their  hospitality  in 
the  common  intercourse  of  the  world,  or  to  awaken 
suspicion  by  rejecting  it.  I might,  perhaps,  too,  so 
ally  myself  to  some  one  interesting  member  of  that 
family,  who,  united  to  me  by  blood,  and  endeared  to 
me  by  splendid  qualities,  would  eventually  weaken 
my  efforts  in  the  cause  of  justice,  general  as  well  as 
personal : in  a word — ” he  stopped  abruptly ; his 
eye  darkened,  his  under  lip  trembled,  and  his  silence 
was  that  of  strong  emotion, — a seeming  struggle  be- 
tween the  impulse  of  a generous  frankness  and  the 
caution  of  necessary  prudence. 

“ Pray  go  on,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  impatiently : 
“your  story  interests  me and  he  seated  himself  upon 
an  abutment  of  the  rampart,  forgetful  of  the  time,  the 
place,  of  everything,  but  the  extraordinary  person 
who  stood  before  him ; and  who  now,  like  a creature 
restored  to  its  native  element,  was  energized  by  strong 
passion,  and  animated  by  emotions  best  adapted  to 
his  nature  and  existence. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


361 


“ In  a word,  then,”1  continued  the  general,  firmly, 
and  after  a pause,  “ such  a person  as  I have  described 
exists ; and  I have  suddenly  but  decidedly  resolved 
to  make  him,  who  must  chiefly  suffer  by  my  claims, 
the  sole  confidant  of  my  strenuous  efforts  to  estab- 
lish them ; to  relate  to  him  a story  which  will  cover 
those  nearest  to  him  with  ignominy,  and  tend  to  de- 
prive him  of  the  greatest  objects  of  the  world’s  am- 
bition. Imagine  how  highly  I think  of  the  honor  and 
the  spirit  of  this  person,  of  the  truth  of  his  character, 
of  the  elevation  of  his  mind,  of  the  disinterested 
generosity  of  his  nature.” 

“ Before  heaven,  I would  rather  be  that  selected 
person,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  impetuously — “ I would 
rather  merit  and  obtain  such  proofs  of  esteem,  confi- 
dence, and  admiration,  than  possess  the  highest  sound- 
ing titles,  which  eventually  await  me,  or  lord  it  over 
these  rich  domains,  which  must  one  day  be  mine.” 

“Would  you?”  exclaimed  the  general,  catching 
his  extended  hand  in  a grasp  of  iron : “ would  you — ” 
he  stopped  short ; a slight  convulsion  passed  across 
his  countenance,  and,  suddenly  letting  fall  the  hand 
he  so  firmly  held,  he  added — “ But  you  shall  hear  my 
story : I will  confide  to  you  events,  and  names  blasted 
by  those  events,  which  names  have  (under  feelings  of 
indignation,  stifled,  indeed,  but  not  extinct)  long  lain 
deep  buried  in  my  heart.  In  my  person,  justice  has 
been  set  aside,  right  overthrown,  nature’s  holiest  ties 
violated ; my  nearest  kindred  have  been  my  deadliest 
foes,  and  the  legal  guardians  of  my  youth  have  torn 
me  from  my  natural  position  in  society,  exposed  me 
to  misery,  to  slavery : through  them  I have  been 
bought  and  sold  like  a beast  of  burden;  through 


£ 


362 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


them — •”  he  paused  abruptly  : he  clenched  his  hands 
with  a violence  that  proceeded  from  acute  and  pow- 
erful feeling  seeking  vent  in  physical  sensation,  acute 
even  to  pain ; then,  with  a flashing  eye,  and  an  illu- 
minated countenance,  he  added— “ But  it  is  passed  ; 
and  I have  asserted  all  the  rights  of  man,  recovered 
and  protected  them  for  myself  and  others ; I have 
broken  the  chain  of  oppression,  wherever  I have 
found  it  galling  the  oppressed ; I have  fought  my  way 
to  glory  and  success  : and  now,  I trust,  I come  to  il- 
lustrate the  name  I claim,  to  add  to  the  splendor,  not 
to  darken  the  brightness,  of  hereditary  nobility. 

This,  however,  is  no  moment ” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  catching  his  enthusi- 
asm, and  borne  away  by  the  energy  and  rapidity  of  his 
manner,  “ go  on ; this  is  the  time.” 

“ Will  you,”  said  General  Fitzwalter,  after  a long 
pause,  “ will  you  trust  yourself  to-night  in  my  lodging 
among  the  ruins  of  Monaster-ny- Oriel  ?” 

“ To-night ! at  what  hour  ?” 

“ The  tide  will  be  out  at  midnight : by  taking  the 
strand,  you  will  reach  the  friary  in  less  than  twenty 
minutes.” 

“ At  midnight,  then,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  shaking  the 
hands  of  his  companions ; and,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  interested  in  the  details  of  a story  of  which  he 
was  not  himself  the  hero ; for  till  this  moment  he  had 
never  been  associated  with  one  whose  high  qualities 
and  superior  endowments  assimilated  with  his  own. 

The  dressing  bell  had  now  ceased  to  ring ; and  the 
new,  but  firm  friends,  parted  for  the  moment. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

“ Rong6  de  fiel,  et  bouffi  d’orgueil.” 

As  the  judges  were  to  proceed  on  their  journey 
early  in  the  evening,  dinner  had  been  advanced  by 
nearly  an  hour  earlier  than  the  ordinary  time ; and 
the  last  bell  had  rung  before  any  one  had  descended 
to  the  saloon.  The  judges  alone  were  impatiently 
observing  the  gradual  refrigeration  of  soups,  fish,  and 
piles,  as  the  party  dropped  into  the  dining-room,  one 
by  one.  Lord  Adelm  and  General  Fitzwalter  were 
among  the  last.  They  came  in  together,  and  all  were 
standing  in  expectation  of  the  entrance  of  the  marchio- 
ness, when  a servant  presented  a note  to  Lady  Geor- 
giana. 

“ Oh  !”  said  Lady  Georgiana,  as  she  finished  a few 
lines,  written  with  a pencil  on  a bit  of  twisted  paper, 
“ here  is  a note  from  Lady  Dunore  : she  desires  me 
to  offer  apologies  to  all  for  her  absence,  to  take  the 
chair,  and  to  say  that  she  will  join  us  at  the  dessert. 
She  dates  from  Castle  Macarthy,  the  seat  of  Lady 
Clancare.” 

Some  smiled  at  this  last  intelligence,  and  some 
looked  sad  : among  the  former  were  Lord  Frederick 
and  Mr.  Daly  : the  latter  were  exclusively  compo&ed 
of  the  Crawleys — all  took  their  places  at  the  table. 
The  presence  of  the  servants  prevented  the  turn  the 
conversation  would  otherwise  have  taken  from  the 


304 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


circumstances  of  the  morning ; and  the  dinner  passed 
off  with  a heaviness,  which  not  even  some  occasional 
flashes  from  Baron  Boulter  could  enliven.  Lord 
Adelm,  with  his  habitual  look  of  haughtiness  and  ah-  i 
straction,  sat  silent  and  reserved.  Judge  Aubrey 
talked  only  in  a low  voice  with  General  Fitzwalter, 
who  sat  next  him.  The  Crawleys,  formal  and  con- 
strained, scarcely  concealed  the  chagrin  and  vexation 
under  which  they  labored.  Lord  Frederick  mur- 
mured soft  nonsense  and  satirical  remarks  into  Lady 
Georgiana’s  “pleased  ear.”  Mr.  Heneage  was  too 
fine,  Earl  Rosbrin  and  Mr.  Pottinger  too  busy  to 
speak,  while  the  absence  of  Lady  Dunore’s  vivacity 
was  evinced  by  the  general  quietude  of  the  table, 
which  was  solemn  and  dull  as  any  fashionable  dinner 
of  extreme  London  bon-ton  could  have  been. 

The  announcement  of  the  judges’  carriages  before 
Lady  Dunore’s  return,  and  while  the  fruit  was  upon 
the  table,  induced  the  whole  party  to  rise,  and  ad- 
journ a la  francaise,  to  coffee  and  the  drawing-room ; 
and  Mr.  Daly,  shocked  at  the  want  of  all  propriety 
in  his  niece  towards  her  high  judicial  guests,  endea- 
vored to  apologize  for  her  absence  by  jokingly  re- 
marking that  she  had  fallen  into  the  thraldom  of  some 
enchantment;  and  that  he  did  not  doubt  that  the 
pretty  Lady  Clancare  was  some  “ Irish  night-tripping 
fairy,”  who  had  carried  her  off,  for  special  reasons, 
known  only  to  the  high  court  of  faery. 

“ By-the-bye,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  “ I should  like 
to  be  better  acquainted  with  that  same  Lady  Clan- 
care,  who  chose  to  be  made  a prisoner,  just  pour 
s'cgayer  ! Does  no  one  know  anything  about  her  ?” 

“Not  a great  deal,  I believe,”  said  Miss  Crawley, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


365 


eagerly  and  pointedly,  “ at  least  in  this  neighborhood, 
my  lord.” 

“ More  than  is  good,”  muttered  old  Crawley;  while 
Lady  Georgiana,  not  perhaps  quite  satisfied  with  Lord 
Frederick’s  inquiries,  replied : 

“ Oh,  you  must  have  seen  her  last  season  in  Lon- 
don. Lady  Dunore  showed  her  off  for  a night  or 
two,  and  took  her  from  old  Lady  Newbank,  who 
picked  her  up,  as  she  picks  up  odd  people,  and  old 
China,  nobody  knows  where.” 

“ What  does  she  do?”  said  Lord  Frederick,  sipping 
his  coffee.  “ Is  she  one  of  the  ‘ Guitararie the  ‘ Tu 
mi  C llamas'  ladies,  who  thrum’d  us  to  death,  when 
Spain  was  in  vogue?  i Et  Dieu  salt  la  racier ie  que 
c'etoit?  Or  does  she  play  the  1 devil  ?’  or  is  she  a 
waltzer,  or  a quadriller  ? or  does  she  invent  Chinese 
puzzles  ? or  make  mottoes  and  draw  trophies,  or  what  ?” 
“I  think  she  was  brought  about  for  writing  books,” 
said  Lady  Georgiana,  languidly,  “ as  well  as  I remem- 
ber.” 

“ Writing  books  !”  re-echoed  Lord  Frederick  in  a 
tone  of  alarm  : “ you  don’t  really  mean  that  ?” 

“ Not  absolutely  books,  I believe,  but  tales,  stories, 
something  about  Ireland,  and  Spain,  and  South  Ame- 
rica. I almost  forget  what ; but  I fancy  people 
thought  they  were  very  amusing  and  odd.” 

uDe  tout  mon  cceur said  Lord  Frederick,  “ I have 
no  objection.  But  with  respect  to  ladies  that  write 
| books,  len  tout , et  par  tout,  je  quitte  la  par  tie?  It’s  a 
j pity,  too ; for  she’s  a pretty,  odd,  shy,  sly-looking  con- 
! cern  enough.  But  really  Lady  Dunore’s  bringing  a 
live  author  down  to  us,  a porte  fermee , as  we  are  liv- 
ing at  present,  is  too  bad ; and  the  worst  of  all  au- 


360 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


thors,  a noble  author.  ’Tis  petty  treason,  against  all 
ease,  comfort,  and  enjoyment.  Has  she  a husband 
belonging  to  her,  do  you  know  ?” 

“ Oh  dear,  no,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  eagerly.  “ She 
is  a peeress  in  her  own  right — he ! he  ! he  ! She  has 
nothing  belonging  to  her ; she  is  a very  independent 
sort  of  person  and  she  laughed  affectedly. 

“ In  fact,”  said  young  Crawley,  “ we  know  nothing 
of  the  lady  whatever,  except  that  such  a person  came 
down  to  this  neighborhood  two  years  ago ; took  an 
old  ruined  mansion,  called  Castle  Macarthy,  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Ballydab,  passed  herself  as  the  granddaughter 
and  heir  of  old  Denis  Macarthy,  commonly  called  the 
titular  Earl  of  Clancare,  who  died  in  Dublin  in  jail  about 
that  period ; and  with  no  other  inheritance  than  an 
old  greyhound,  and  no  other  proof  of  the  truth  of 
her  story  than  her  own  assertion,  entered  at  once 
upon  a scheming  course  of  litigiousness,  broke  some 
leases,  and——” 

“ Took  my  illigant  mountain  of  Clotnotty-joy  from 
me,”  interrupted  old  Crawley,  despondingly. 

The  pathetic  tone  in  which  this  was  pronounced 
excited  some  mirth ; and  Mr.  Daly  observed,  “If,  then, 
she  breaks  leases,  and  made  good  her  claim  to  Clot- 
notty-joy,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  I suppose,  that  she 
is  the  personage  she  asserts  herself  to  be.” 

“There  is  none  whatever,”  said  Judge  Aubrey, 
who  had  sat  silently  listening,  while  Baron  Boulter 
went  to  the  stables  to  look  after  a favorite  mare,  rid- 
den by  his  crier ; “ there  is  none  whatever.  I have 
had  opportunities  cf  knowing  something  of  this  young 
lady;  but  I did  not  know  before  that  she  labors  under 
the  odium  of  writing  books ; for  there  is  certainly  no 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


367 


personification  of  authorship  about  her — no  preten- 
sion whatever.” 

“ And  that’s  the  pity  of  it,”  said  Lord  Frederick: 
“ there  is,  on  the  contrary,  an  odd  mixture  of  the  shy 
and  the  comic  in  her  countenance,  that  one  would 
think  pretty  if  she  was  not  an  author.” 

“ Comic  !”  interrupted  old  Crawdey,  gradually  re- 
suming his  wonted  tone  of  spirits,  by  mere  force  of 
temperament,  while  his  eye  occasionally  turned  on 
the  stranger  with  a look  of  doubtful  anxiety,  as  if 
some  vague,  unsatisfied  suspicion  still  lurked  in  his 
mind — “ Och  ! she’s  comical  enough — a little  too 
comical,  like  Paddy  Mooney’s  goose,  full  of  fun,  and 
nothing  to  play  with.” 

The  coarse  vulgarisms  of  Mr.  Crawley  always  ex- 
cited unrestrained  mirth  in  the  finer  part  of  the  so- 
ciety at  Dunore  Castle;  and  Lord  Frederick  laugh- 
ingly replied : 

“ I should  like  them  to  know  Mr.  Mooney’s  goose 
most  particularly  ; for  I vote  fun  the  best  thing  alive ; 
li  and  if  your  Lady  Clancare  has  this  talent  in  common 
with  Mr.  Mooney’s  goose,  I believe  I should  almost 
be  inclined  to  pardon  the  possession  of  others,  even 
though  they  went  as  far  as  writing  books,  Pray,  is 
this  literary  peeress  in  her  own  right  rich  ?” 

“ Rich  !”  said  young  Crawley,  “ nobody  knows  how 
she  exists ; and  people  laugh  at  her  pretention  to 
rank.  The  person  last  bearing  the  title  of  Clancare 
died  abroad  without  issue ; and  in  Ireland  titles  are 
so  frequently  claimed  by  pauper  pretenders,  that  little 
j attention  is  paid  to  such  events : we  had,  not  long 
since,  a basket-boy  a viscount,  and  a turf-'cutter  a 
1 baron.” 


368 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ The  statement  which  appeared  respecting  the  ex- 
tinction of  this  title  was  incorrect,”  said  Judge  Au- 
brey; “ for  although  the  former  Earl  of  Clancare  died 
in  Italy  without  issue,  yet  a representative  of  that 
title  was  found  to  exist,  in  the  person  of  the  late  Mr. 
Macarthy,  whose  lineal  ancestors  were  included  in 
the  general  attainder  of  the  Catholic  peers  who  sup- 
ported James  the  Second  in  the  war  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. These  attainders,  however,  have,  with  a few 
exceptions,  been  reversed,  L sat  upon  the  Clancare 
cause,  which  terminated  in  the  success  and  the  ruin 
of  the  old  chieftain.  He  obtained  his  title,  which  de- 
scends in  the  female  line,  but  died,  as  Mr.  Conway 
Crawley  states,  a few  days  after  in  prison,  where  he 
had.  been  detained  for  costs.  Since  that  event,  I have 
had  the  pleasure  of  once  meeting  Lady  Clancare  upon 
an  occasion  that  did  equal  honor  to  her  heart  and  her 
head.  She  interested  herself  in  the  fate  of  a person 
condemned  to  perpetual  incarceration,  S under  the 
shameful  Irish  by-law  called  a 4 rule  of  bail.’  He  is 
now  gaining  an  honest  livelihood,  and  runs  a chaise 
and  pair  of  his  own,  I understand,  on  some  of  the  by- 
roads between  Cork  and  Kerry.  Every  one  knows 
Owny,  the  Rabragh*  and  is  glad  to  employ  him;  for 
he  occasionally  realizes  all  that  has  been  said  of  the 
shrewdness  and  humor  of  an  Irish  postillion.” 

General  Fitzwalter  and  Lord  Adelm  exchanged 
glances  of  significance. 

“ A little  hanging  would  do  him  no  harm  for  all 
that,  with  great  deference  to  your  lordship,”  said  old 
Crawley ; “ for  there  was  neither  pace  nor  quiet  while 

* An  Irish  scholar  translated  this  term  for  me — a “ hearty 
fellow it  in  fact  means  a rustic  “ gay  Lothario.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


869 


he  was  in  the  barony,  setting  up  the  fairs  and  patterns 
after  they  were  put  down  by  milithary  law,  and  burn- 
ing me  in  elegy,  and  thinking  a beau  maison  of  him- 
self, as  the  French  says,  at  the  hurling  matches,  with 
his  white  shirt  sleeves  and  green  ribbons.” 

“ I aln  glad  of  it,”  said  Mr.  Daly ; “ and  I wish 
with  all  my  soul  we  had  more  rabraghs.  The  Irish 
peasantry  are  not  only  more  indigent  than  they  w^ere 
forty  years  ago,  but  they  have  lost  much  of  the  gaiety 
and  cheerfulness  of  spirit  which  set  sorrow  at  de- 
fiance. Their  wakes  and  fairs,  patterns,  and  Sunday 
evening  cake,  are  almost  wholly  laid  aside  : these,  and 
the  hurling  matches,  that  noble,  athletic,  and  national 
sport,  are  quite  gone  by.  I remember  as  if  it  were 
but  yesterday,  fifty  years  back,  heading  the  Leitrim 
boys  against  the  Kerries,  who  were  led  on  by  old 
Florence  Macarthy,  the  very  grandfather  of  this  Lady 
Clancare,  in  a hurling  match  between  the  counties. 
Macarthy  won  the  match,  and  more  than  the  match, 
for  he  won  the  heart  of  the  pretty  Honor  O’Connor, 
the  toast  of  the  two  provinces,  who  he  afterwards 
married,  and  who,  with  all  the  reigning  beauties  of 
the  day,  followed  the  fortunes  of  the  contest.” 

“It  warms  one’s  old  blood,”  continued  Mr.  Daly, 
starting  up  with  animation,  “even  at  seventy-three, 
to  think  of  the  native  energy,  force,  and  spirit  of  the 
genuine  Irish  character;  and  it  chills  it,”  he  added, 
with  a sigh,  and  retaking  his  seat,  “ when  one  thinks 
upon  the  means  which  must  have  been  employed 
within  the  last  thirty  years  to  weaken  and  turn  it 
from  its  natural  bias.  I doubt,  sir,”  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  General  Fitzwalter,  “ that  had  you  remained 
at  home,  I doubt  that  you  would  have  developed 


370 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


those  great  qualities  in  this  devoted  country,  which 
have  obtained  for  you,  elsewhere,  the  epithet  fcf  the 
Liberator,  and  have  enabled  you  in  a land  of  strangers 
to  fight  your  way  to  high  command,  and  higher  con- 
sideration.” 

General  Fitzwalter  had  given  to  the  details  of  this 
desultory  conversation  that  animated  and  earnest  at- 
tention which  betokens  deep  interest.  Thus  person- 
ally addressed,  he  replied,  with  the  abrupt  frankness 
of  one  who  rather  courts  than  shuns  observation  : 

“ I am  an  Irishman,  sir,  and  have  long  been  an  exile, 
but  not  from  religious  proscription  (for  my  family 
were  of  the  master  cast),  but  by  circumstances  con- 
nected with  the  political  state  of  the  country;  turned 
adrift  upon  the  world  without  compass  or  rudder, 
without  a home  to  love,  friends  to  cherish,  or  a conn 
try  to  defend  or  serve,  I became  by  necessity  a com- 
moner of  nature ; and  unfettered  by  the  distinctions 
of  clime,  country,  or  kindred,  I have  early  claimed 
alliance  with  all  who  suffer,  whatever  might  be  the 
region  they  inhabited. 

“ The  chances  which  threw  me  on  the  shores  of 
America  brought  me  early  in  life  in  contact  with 
Don  Narino>  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  share  his 
dungeon  in  Santa  Fe,  his  escape  to  Europe,  and  his 
mission  to  England.  I accompanied  him  also  in  his 
venturous  return  to  New  Grenada,  where,  backed  by 
English  protection,  he  again  risked  his  life  in  his 
country’s  cause.  Proscribed,  marked  out  for  de- 
struction, pursued,  discovered,  taken,  he  expiated  the 

* Narino  visited  England  in  consequence  of  certain  plans  en- 
tertained by  the  British  ministry  for  separating-  Terra  Firma 
from  Spain. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


871 


crime  of  patriotism  by  a long  series  of  misery  and  in- 
carceration. Narino  has  since  appeared  before  the 
world  in  all  his  original  splendor  ; and  I,  in  common 
with  many  of  my  gallant  countrymen*  have  contin- 
ued to  follow  the  standard  of  liberty,  from  the  mo- 
ment it  was  openly  unfurled  among  the  mighty  re- 
gions of  the  Cordilleras.” 

“ Borne  it,  not  followed  it,”  said  Lord  Adelm. 

“ The  stranger,”  said  Fitzwalter,  “ who  risks  his 
fortune  in  a foreign  land  on  general  principles  of 
right  and  liberty,  usually  becomes  the  favorite  of  the 
more  interested  partizans.  I have,  therefore,  occa- 
sionally led,  as  well  as  followed,  in  almost  every  part 
of  Spanish  America,  where  the  glorious  impulsion  of 
freedom  has  been  given.  In  a late  action,  more  than 
half  the  corps  I commanded  were  massacred  in  a pass 
of  the  Cordilleras ; for  the  war  of  Spain  against  Amer- 
ica is  named,,  even  by  the  Spaniards,  a 1 war  of  death.’ 
As  their  chief,  I was  reserved  for  torture,  and  for  an 
ignominious  death.  It  was  a romantic  event,  that 
one  of  the  guards,  placed  over  me,  had  in  early  life 
done  me  an  injury  that  weighed  heavily  on  his  con- 
science. He  took  this  moment  for  reconciling  him- 
self with  heaven,  released,  and  fled  with  me.  I es- 
caped from  the  Caraccas  to  Demerara,  where,  through 
the  channel  of  the  public  papers,  an  event  of  great 
personal  interest  accidentally  reached  my  knowledge, 
which  the  remoteness  and  occupation  of  my  scene  of 
action,  together  with  my  more  immediate  incarcera- 
tion, prevented  me  from  sooner  learning.  This  event 
has  brought  me  to  my  native  country : and  though 
as  an  Irishman  I should,  on  general  grounds,  lament 
* See  note  (12)  at  the  end  of  the  volume 


872 


fLOKENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  circumstances  which  introduced  me  to  the  castle 
of  Dunore,  jet  upon  principles  of  personal  gratifica- 
tion, I am  not  sufficiently  disinterested  to  regret 
them.n 

This  brief  sketch  of  autobiography  was  thrown 
off  with  a frankness  and  energy  of  manner  that  gave 
it  singular  effect,  and  bestowed  upon  it  all  the  evi- 
dence of  truth,  and  "all  the  graces  of  modesty,  while 
it  obtained  for  the  brilliant  and  singular  narrator  an 
admiration  variously  felt  and  expressed. 

“ Go  on,  General  Fitzwalter,  go  on,”  cried  a voice 
from  the  door  : “ you  have  no  idea  how  you  remind 
me  of  Koskiusko,  when  I went  to  see  him  in  London, 
lying  wounded  upon  a sofa.  You  racontez  so  like 
him ; doesn’t  he,  Georgy,  love  ? I must  say,  after  all, 
that  patriotism  and  freedom  are  things  that  always 
sound  delightfully.” 

This  speech  drew  every  eye  to  the  spot  from 
whence  it  proceeded ; and  Lady  Dunore  appeared, 
leaning  her  back  against  the  half-open  door,  conceal- 
ing the  figure  of  Lady  Clancare,  whose  dark  eyes 
were  just  seen  peeping  over  her  shoulder. 

The  ladies  had  entered  thus  far  unobserved,  for 
the  company  sat  with  their  backs  to  the  door,  at  the 
moment  when  Mr.  Daly  had  addressed  General  Fitz- 
walter ; and  Lady  Dunore,  who  loved  to  hear  every- 
thing about  every  one,  and  loved  it  the  more  in  pro- 
portion as  events  were  extraordinary,  stood  spell- 
bound while  the  general  spoke,  as  forgetful  of  her 
“dear  delightful  judges”  as  if  they  had  never  existed. 
They  were  now,  however,  recalled  to  her  recollection 
by  the  entrance  of  Baron  Boulter,  bearing  the  intel- 
ligence that  all  was  ready  for  their  departure ; and 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


373 


Lady  Dunore,  translating  the  reproachful  look  and 
shake  of  her  uncle’s  head,  came  forward  with  a mul- 
titude of  apologies  for  her  absence,  many  anxious  en- 
treaties that  they  would  prolong  their  stay,  and  as 
deep-formed  wishes  that  they  would  return,  with  all 
their  wives  and  all  their  children,  to  pass  some  time 
at  Dunore,  where  she  was  going  to  have  private 
plays  and  a chapel  of  ease,  and  Lady  Clancare,  and 
perhaps  more  trials. 

The  judges,  however,  seemed  perfectly  satisfied 
with  the  trials  they  had  already  witnessed;  and 
Baron  Boulter,  as  spokesman,  received  and  returned 
her  ladyship’s  compliments  with  all  the  ardor  and 
earnestness  with  which  they  were  made.  The  judges 
were  then  conducted  to  their  carriages,  by  Lord 
Adelm  and  Mr,  Daly,  and  departed. 

Lady  Dunore  now  led,  or  rather  forced  forward, 
the  really,  or  affectedly  timid  Lady  Clancare,  who, 
with  the  manner  that  resembled  the  graceful  awk- 
wardness of  a pretty  but  froward  child,  still  held 
back.  Lady  Dunore,  heated  and  dishevelled,  was 
still  in  her  morning  dress,  with  her  sautoir  de  cashmir 
rolled  round  her  head,  and  a gray  cloak  of  Lady  Clan- 
dare’s  on  her  shoulders,  exhibiting  a most  sybil-like 
appearance.  Lady  Clancare,  on  the  contrary,  had 
exchanged  her  coarse  unbecoming  costume  of  the 
morning  for  a black  Spanish  dress  and  mantilla,  which 
were  then  still  in  fashion. 

Lady  Dunore,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  new 
protegee  with  delight  and  admiration,  now  turned  them 
on  the  company  to  observe  the  effect  she  had  pro- 
duced, and  at  last  fixed  their  eager  glances  upon  Gen- 
eral Fitz  waiter,  with  an  expression  which,  if  not 


374 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


attributable  to  her  wonted  extravagance.,  was  wholly 
untranslatable.  There  was  in  this  intense  stare  a 
hope,  a fear,  something  expected,  something  dreaded. 
General  Fitzwalter,  whose  eyes,  like  those  of  the  rest 
of  the  company,  were  turned  on  Lady  Clancare,  in 
mere  curiosity,  at  last  met  those  of  Lady  Dunore. 
For  a moment  they  returned  her  fixed  look,  till  red- 
dening under  the  intensity  of  her  gaze,  he  turned 
away,  and  picking  up  a screen,  which  lay  at  Georgi- 
ans feet,  he  seized  on  this  little  act  as  an  opportu- 
nity for  addressing  her.  Lady  Dunore  whispered 
something  to  Lady  Clancare,  who  smiled,  and  threw 
down  her  eyes ; and  Mr.  Daly,  entering  with  Lord 
Adelm,  was  commencing  his  attack  on  his  inconse- 
quent niece,  when  Lady  Dunore,  impatiently  putting 
her  hand  on  his  mouth,  interrupted  him  with : “ There, 
there,  I know  all  you  would  say,  all  any  one  can  say, 
on  the  subject  j if  I have  done  wrong,  I bring  my  ex- 
cuse in  my  hand,”  and  she  drew  forward  Lady  Clan- 
care. 

“You  could  not  bring  forward  a fairer,”  said  Mr. 
Daly,  with  an  air  of  gallantry;  “and  had  I been  so 
tempted,  I,  too,  should  have  so  sinned,  I fear,  though 
the  whole  bench  of  bishops,  and  all  the  judges  of  the 
land,  had  been  making  claims  on  my  attention.  I 
had  the  honor,”  he  added,  addressing  Lady  Clancare, 

“ of  knowing  your  ladyship’s  venerable  grandfather, 
some  short  half-century  back.  He  was  not  very  ven- 
erable then : he  was,  indeed,  of  a race  of  men,  in  sta- 
ture, look  and  character,  now  almost  passed  away  in 
this  country — we  shall  not  look  upon  their  like  again.” 

Lady  Clancare  bowed  to  this  recollection  of  her 
grandfather;  and  though  she  spoke  not,  there  was 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


375 


something  passed  across  her  countenance,  which  in- 
duced Mr.  Daly  to  take  her  hand,  under  pretence  of 
leading  her  to  her  chair;  and  he  felt  (or  he  fancied 
he  felt)  a gentle  pressure  of  his,  which  he  returned 
with  an  ardor  that  did  not  quite  belong  to  seventy- 
three. 

“ Oh ! for  line  men,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  throwing 
herself  into  an  arm  chair,  “ I think  they  are  really 
quite  extinct  with  us  altogether.  You  know,  Georgy, 
love,  we  were  observing  at  the  opera,  the  last  night 
we  were  there,  that  we  thought  all  the  heirs  of  the 
great  names  were  pigmies.  There  is  nothing  coming 
now  at  all  like  the  Dukes  of  A.  and  H.— , the  Mar- 
quis of  A — , and  the  old  Earl  of  E — , in  his  corona- 
tion robes,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  with  respect 
to  those  magnificent  creatures  that  once  used  to  meet 
in  London,  I think  all  that  sort  of  thing  now  is  con- 
fined to  the  patriots,  that  is  the  Poles,  and  South 
American  chiefs.  Don’t  you  think  so,  Georgy,  love  ?” 
and  she  turned  her  eyes  on  General  Fitz waiter. 

To  get  rid  of  the  awkwardness  of  this  pointed 
compliment,  which  evidently  distressed  its  object, 
Mr.  Daly  addressed  General  Fitzwalter  with  some 
observations  on  a country  where  he  had  played  so 
distinguished  apart.  u South  America,”  he  observed, 
“ is  well  known  to  us  in  the  Spanish  histories  of  its 
early  discoverers,  but  it  is  only  now  become  an  object 
of  interest  through  the  exertions  of  those  States, 
which  are  seeking  to  shake  off  that  yoke  which  had 
almost  deprived  them  of  a place  in  the  history  of  na- 
tions ; the  impulse,  however,  must  have  been  given 
long  since.” 

General  Fitzwalter  replied : “ The  oppression  and 


378 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


cruelty  of  the  colonial  legislatures  had  excited,  even 
as  far  hack  as  the  middle  of  last  century,  events, 
which  seemed  remotely  to  prepare  a new  destiny  for 
a population  of  fourteen  millions  of  its  inhabitants. 
To  a torpid  acquiescence  of  three  centuries  succeed- 
ed a gathering  tempest,  kindling  resistance.  The 
spirit  of  freedom,  once  vivified,  rapidly  brightened 
into  flame,  shining  from  North  to  South;  and  the 
period  soon  arrived  when  every  American  heart 
beat  in  unison  under  its  influence.  Internal  divisions 
may  render  this  conflict  long  and  uncertain ; but  the 
cause  belongs  to  humanity ; it  springs  from  the  laws 
of  nature  and  is  inevitable ; it  is  borne  along  by  the 
spirit  of  the  age  and  the  progress  of  illumination, 
and  it  must  finally  succeed.” 

“ To  be  sure  it  must,”  said  Lady  Dunore.  “ Don’t 
you  think  so,  Georgy,  love  ?” 

“ For  my  part,  I don’t  know,”  said  Conway  Craw- 
ley, with  his  brogue  and  his  effrontery,  “ what  par- 
sons mean  about  giving  liberty  and  independence  to 
au  uninformed  race,  defined  by  one  of  the  Spanish 
fiscals  as  creatures  destined  by  nature  to  work  like 
moles  in  the  mines.  We  have  all  read  the  solemn 
declaration  of  the  consulado , or  board  of  trade,  in 
Mexico,  that  the  Indians  are  a race  of  monkeys,  filled 
with  vice  and  ignorance;  and  they  have  extended 
their  remarks,  I believe,  pretty  justly  to  the  creoles, 
or  degenerate  descendants  of  the  first  Spanish  settlers.” 

“ That,  indeed,  changes  the  thing  altogether,”  said 
Lady  Dunore,  “ not  but  a race  of  monkeys  must  be 
very  amusing,  and  very  mischievous.  Don  t you  think 
so,  Georgy,  dear  ?” 

u It  was,”  said  Mr.  Daly,  u these  same  sagacious 


rLORENCE  MACARTHY* 


377 


fiscals  who  ordered  the  olive  and  the  vine  to  be  rooted 
out  of  Chili,  to  compel  a commerce  with  the  peninsula. 
And  it  was  in  the  bosoms  of  these  American  auto- 
mata-,” he  continued,  “ of  these  monkeys,  that  the 
British  Government,  in  1797,  resolved  to  cherish  the 
spark  of  independence  already  awakened  there.” 

“ What  is,  generally  speaking,  the  condition  of  the 
lower  orders  ?”  asked  Mr.  Da  y,  turning  coolly  away 
from  young  Crawley,  and  evidently  anxious  to  draw 
out  the  general. 

“ Borne  down,”  he  answered,  “ by  long  slavery  and 
injustice,  the  native  Indian  submits  to  his  vexatious 
+ existence  with  an  affected  patience,  a seeming  apathy, 
which  veils  the  cunning  and  ferocity  of  the  enslaved 
and  degraded  in  all  countries.  Everywhere  the 
slave  exhibits  the  same  vice,  jargon,  and  policy ; and 
it  does  happen  that  when  a native  Indian  rises  by 
low  arts  to  petty  power,  and  becomes  the  alcade,  the 
magistrate,  or  loyal  man  of  the  colonial  government, 
supported  by  that  government,  he  makes  common 
cause  with  his  superiors,  and  adds  by  misrepresenta- 
tions to  the  sufferings  of  his  country.” 

“Och!  the  thief  of  the  world!”  said  old  Crawley, 
while  his  son  changed  color,  for  he  felt  the  full  force 
of  the  remark.  “ If  we  had  him  in  Ireland,  we’d 
soon  take  away  his  commission  of  the  pace  from 
him.” 

A burst  of  good-natured  laughter  from  Lady  Clan- 
care  excited  a pretty  universal  sympathy ; and  young 
Crawley,  trembling  with  acrimonious  emotion,  con- 
tinued : 

“The  South  Americans  are,  by  temperament,  a 
bloody  and  inhuman  people.  Their  very  religion  is 


878 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


a religion  of  blood.  The  Spaniards  found  them  sac* 
rificing  human  beings  in  their  temples.” 

“Yes,”  interrupted  Miss  Crawley,  “so  we  read  in 
the  abridgment  of  the  life  of  Columbus.” 

“And  there  exists  a sect,”  said  young  Crawley, 
ransacking  his  schoolboy  erudition,  “who  preach 
purification  by  blood.  Such  are  the  people  who  are 
to  overturn  a Christian  dynasty,  a legitimate  sover- 
eignty, and  talk  of  rights,  humanity,  and  that  sort  of 
trash,  that  one  is  sick  of.” 

“They  are  all  naturally  atheists,  and  deists,  and 
idolators,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  triumphantly. 

“ Georgy,  love,  did  you  ever  hear  anything  so 
shocking  ?”  said  Lady  Dunore.  “ How  can  any  one 
wish  well  to  such  a people.  Mr.  Heneage,  bring  mo 
my  eau  cle  luce  bottle.” 

“ Such  facts,”  said  General  Fitzwalter,  “ are  a 
proof  of  the  feebleness  of  the  human  mind.  In  all 
parts  of  the  world,  atonement  by  human  sacrifice  ifc 
the  dogma  of  nations  in  their  infancy ; because  the 
first  religion  of  man  is  the  religion  of  fear.  He  suf 
fers  more  than  he  enjoys ; and  he  propitiates  accord* 
ingly” 

“ But  I believe,”  continued  the  general,  “ we  must 
not  look  too  deeply  into  the  history  of  man,  whatever 
region  he  inhabits ; it  is  a fearful  and  an  humiliating 
history ; and  when  backed  by  fanaticism,  it  is  more 
than  ordinarily  blood-stained  and  terrific.  But  let  us 
take  him  when  we  can,  in  his  best  aspect,  free  and 
enlightened ; or  so  blessed  by  singularity  of  temper- 
ament, so  formed  of  happy  elements,  that,  like  the 
mild  Peruvian,  he  performs  the  rites  of  the  heart, 
whose  incense  smells  to  heaven,  and  heaps  on  his 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


379 


sunny  altars  the  fruits  and  odors  of  his  luxuriant 
soil.” 

“ How  beautiful !”  said  Lady  Dunore ; “ there  is 
nothing  like  those  Peruvians,  par  exemple , and  their 
odors.” 

“ Peruvians  or  Mexicans,  they  are  all  a detestable 
race,”  said  young  Crawley,  “ unworthy  of  a better 
government ; and  any  one  who  knows  their  history, 
and  has  read  their  absurd  mythology,  their  deluge  of 
Coxcox,  and  their— — ” 

Lady  Dunore,  now  a very  violent  South  American 
patriot,  exclaimed — “Good  heavens!  General  Fitz- 
walter,  I hope  you  are  come  to  recruit  here  for  your 
grand  cause.  I dare  say  there  are  a quantity  of 
young  men  among  our  tenantry  would  go  for  noth- 
ing at  all ; don’t  you  think  they  would,  Mr.  Crawley  ?” 

“ Upon  my  credit,  my  lady,  I can’t  take  upon  me 
to  say,”  returned  Mr.  Crawley,  fearful  that  as  he  had 
already  bailed  his  own  prisoner,  he  would  next  be 
compelled  to  recruit  in  the  cause  of  rebellion  ; “ but 
I don’t  think  they  have  any  turn  to  fighting  among 
the  negers ; and  then,  I suppose,  it’s  a good  step  off, 
madam.” 

“ Nothing  to  signify,  my  dear  Mr.  Crawley,”  inter- 
rupted Lord  Frederick ; “ and  provided  you  will  take 
thev  command  of  the  Ballydab  and  Dunore  heroes,  I 
don’t  care  if  I accompany  you  as  a volunteer  when- 
ever you  please  to  sally  forth ; for  I look  upon  it,  Mr. 
Crawley,  that  you  are  one  of  those  ancient  preux , 
pour  fendre  giant 7 de  rompre  harnois , et  porter  en 
croupe  belles  demoiselles  sans  leur  parley  de  men" 

“ Many  thanks  for  your  compliment,  my  lord,”  said 
old  Crawley,  believing  Lord  Frederick  must  be  civil, 


380 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


as  he  spoke  in  French.  “ I never  was  much  given  to 
travel ; only  oncet  was  going  to  Lisburn  for  my  health, 
after  my  sufferings  on  duty  with  the. yeomanry  in  the 
rebellion  of  ninety-eight.” 

“ To  Lisburn,  my  dear  Mr.  Crawley,”  said  Lord 
Frederick;  “ is  Lisburn  the  Montpellier  of  Ireland?” 

“ Not  at  all,  my  lord;  I mane  Lisburn,  the  capital 
cf  Spain,”  replied  Mr.  Crawley. 

“ If  I were  twenty  years  younger,  Mr.  Crawley,” 
said  Mr.  Daly,  covering  out  the  general  titter  by  ad- 
dressing its  object,  “ I should  myself  be  tempted  to 
go  forth.  South  America  is  the  great  stage  upon 
which  the  world’s  eye  is  now  fixed.”. 

“A  stage,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  shaking  his  head, 
“ where  every  man  must  play  his  part,  and  mine  a sad 
one.” 

“ See  that  now,’  said  Mr.  Crawley,  “ and  never 
heard  tell  of  it  before,  only  the  Yankee-doodles  and 
New  York,  and  the  likes.” 

“ Man,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  starting  up  from  a re- 
verie in  which  he  had  indulged  while  leaning  over 
the  back  of  Lady  Georgiana’s  chair,  “ man,  in  what- 
ever region  he  is  found,  may  best  be  typified  by  a 
squirrel  in  a cage.” 

“A  squirrel  in  a cage  ! the  Lord  save  us  !”  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Crawley,  in  astonishment. 

“ His  little  sphere  is  so  planned,”  continued  Lord 
Adelm,  “ that  he  can  be  nothing  but  what  he  is,  do 
nothing  but  what  he  does.  He  goes  round  his  circle, 
and  repeats  his  rotations,  with  no  difference  in  the 
performance,  but  a little  acceleration  or  a little  retard- 
ment. These  South  Americans  but  repeat  an  old 
story : they  are  savage  and  unprotected,  they  are  con- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


381 


quered ; — they  are  slaves,  and  degraded,  they  en- 
dure ; — they  are  pressed  to  the  quick,  they  turn  and 
resist; — they  struggle  and  succeed, — become  great, 
prosperous,  illumined ; conquer  and  oppress  in  their 
turn,  moulder  away,  and  leave  to  posterity  the  un- 
heeded moral  that  in  every  clime,  state,  or  being,  man 
is  neither  to  be  praised  nor  blamed,  admired  nor  ab- 
horred. He  is  what  he  is ; — otherwise  he  cannot  be  ; 
for,  after  all,  he  is  but  an  engine,  a mere  engine.” 

“A  steam-engine,”  said  old  Crawley,  shaking  his 
head,  and  anxious  to  agree  with  Lord  Fitzadeim,  of 
whom  he  stood  in  awe ; “ sorrow  a thing  else.” 

“ Faith,  pretty  much,”  said  Lord  Adeim,  with  a 
gravity  none  preserved  but  himself ; “ except  that  a 
steam-engine  has  this  superiority  over  him,  that  it  is 
neither  susceptible  of  caprice  nor  distraction.  It 
turns,  also,  upon  a beneficial  principle ; while  the 
mainspring  of  the  machinery  of  man  inevitably  turns 
on  evil.” 

“ Evil  to  him  as  evil  thinks,”  re-echoed  old  Craw- 
ley; “ honey  swa  key  molly  pause , as  the  French  says.” 
“ That’s  not  ill  put,  Mr.  Crawley,”  said  Mr.  Laly, 
while  everybody  else  laughed;  “ but,  my  dear  Fitz- 
adeim, you,  at  least,  admit  the  principle  of  good  to 
exist  conjointly  with  that  of  evil.  You  will  not  es- 
tablish a doctrine  less  consoling  than  that  of  the  dark, 
demoniac  Indian  mythology.” 

“ Oh,  I deny  good  as  a principle  altogether,”  said 
Lord  Adeim:  “good  is  merely  relative,  evil  is  posi- 
tive. Evil  is  necessary  to  man,  as  the  air  he  breathes ; 
- an  inherent  part  of  his  existence : deprive  him  of  his 
principle  of  evil,  and  he  becomes  a vegetable.” 


382 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ A vegetable !”  repeated  old  Crawley ; “ see  that 
now.” 

“ Evil  is  the  source,  end,  and  object  of  the  pas- 
sions ; or,  to  give  them  their  proper  names,  the  appe- 
tites. It  is  the  grand  agitator  of  life,  its  food  and 
occupation;  without  evil,  there  would  be  neither 
genius,  virtue,  nor  valor ; for  what  is  virtue  but  an  ef- 
fort against  vice  ? What  genius  ? — the  nisus  to  over- 
come suffering.  What  valor? — the  necessity  of  mas- 
sacre and  bloodshed.”  * 

“ Christ  save  us  !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Crawley. 

“ What  is  ambition? — the  selfish  wish  of  rule. 
What  friendship? — helplessness.  What  love? — a 
want.  Whence  arise  the  liberal  professions,  but  from 
the  innate  tendency  of  man  to  evil  ? The  whole  busi- 
ness of  life,  then,  is  but  one  sustained  effort  against 
evil;  and  without  evil,  in  a supereminent  degree, 
skill,  wisdom,  virtue  and  courage,  could  not  be  de- 
veloped, because  they  would  not  be  called  for.  Tak- 
ing, then,  a just  view  of  things,  there  is  little  to  move 
either  our  wrath  or  our  admiration.  He  who  feels 
little  and  digests  well — he  who  has  a bad  heart  and 
a good  stomach — is,  after  all,  the  true  sage  and  the 
happy  man.”  v 

Here  Lord  Adelm  was  interrupted  by  a servant, 
who  gave  him  a note.  It  filled  the  room  with  per- 
fume, and  covered  Lord  Adelm’s  face  with  blushes, 
warm  as  the  hues  of  the  paper  he  perused.  Every 
one  smiled  as  he  hurried  away ; and  though  the  estab- 
lished laws  of  bon-ton  prevented  the  slightest  notice 
being  taken  of  this  incident,  Mr.  Daly  could  not  help 
saying  with  an  arch  smile — “ So  much  for  the  philo- 
sophy of  indifference.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


383 


il  Philosophy !”  repeated  Lord  Rosbrin,  laying 
down  his  play-book : 

“ There  never  yet  was  found  philosophy 
Could  bear  the  toothache  patiently.” 

The  quick  eye  of  Lady  Dunore  had  rested  on  the 
face,  and  observed  the  emotions  of  her  son.  Her 
feelings  of  maternity  had  been  so  little  influenced  by 
his  return,  that,  the  first  pleasure  over,  which  surprise 
always  occasioned  in  her,  she  had  not  been  induced 
to  retire  with  him  for  a single  half-hour  since  his  arri- 
val, but  had  been  quite  satisfied  with  the  few  words 
he  had  said  to  her  in  the  hall,  stating  the  motive  of 
his  journey  to  have  been  his  wish  to  preside  at  his 
own  election.  His  sudden  emotion  and  exit  now 
seized  on  her  imagination.  She  was  not  yet  ex- 
hausted by  the  events  of  the  day ; and  after  strug- 
gling for  a moment  in  contest  with  her  own  feelings, 
she  arose  and  followed  him. 

The  servant  who  had  delivered  the  note  met  her 
in  the  hall ; but  to  her  inquiries  whence  it  had  come, 
the  answer  was,  it  had  been  left  in  the  porter’s  lodge, 
and  had  come  from  the  post-house. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Daly  had  ordered  the  brag  table ; 
and  while  the  party  stood  waiting  for  Lady  Dunore 
to  join  them,  Lord  Rosbrin  proposed  reciting  “ Col- 
lin’s Ode  on  the  Passions,”  which  was  by  common 
consent  overruled,  in  favor  of  his  imitations  of  the 
favorite  actors  of  the  day.  With  Miss  Crawley’s 
scarf  bound  round  his  head,  a casbmir  of  Lady  Geor- 
giana’s  wound  round  his  body,  a row  of  candles 
placed  at  his  feet,  and  the  company  circled  around 
him,  he  gave  a very  close  imitation  of  some  of  the 


384 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


best  modern  tragedians,  in  the  parts  of  Othello, 
Richard  III.,  Macbeth,  and  Hamlet,  successively. 
The  imitation  was,  indeed,  so  faithful,  that  it  not  only 
rendered  look  for  look,  and  tone  for  tone,  but  every 
inflection,  gesture,  and  grimace  was  preserved  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  in  the  original  he  copied. 

The  exhibition,  so  well  adapted  to  the  idle  and  the 
gay,  as  combining  (what  the  great  love)  amusement 
and  ridicule,  had  so  entirely  occupied  the  minds  of 
the  audience,  that  nearly  two  hours  had  been  passed  | 
in  recitations,  accompanied  by  bravoes  and  encores, 
without  Lady  Dunore’s  protracted  absence  becoming 
a subject  of  notice  to  her  preoccupied  guests.  When 
at  last  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  her  counte- 
nance was  disturbed ; there  was  a cloud  on  her  brow, 
and  her  cheek  was  stained  with  tears. 

The  lights  on  the  floor,  however,  the  turbaned 
head,  and  draped  figure  of  Lord  Rosbrin,  operated 
as  talismans  on  her  oppressed  spirits.  He  was  com- 
manded to  go  over  the  course  again,  and  was  again 
rewarded  with  vociferated  bravoes,  and  hysterical  * 
laughs,  until  Lady  Georgiana  observed  that  both 
Lady  Clancare  and  General  Fitzwalter  had  disap- 
peared during  the  representation. 

“ Gone ! and  together  ?”  asked  Lady  Dunore, 
starting  up  in  emotion ; “ when,  where,  how  ?” 

“ Together  !n  repeated  Lord  Frederick.  “ On  crie 
a la  scandale  /” 

Lady  Dunore  repeated  her  question,  but  no  one 
could  give  any  answer.  While  Lord  Rosbrin  had 
strutted  his  hour,  none  had  eyes  or  ears  but  for  him ; 
and  the  marchioness,  in  an  agitation  no  one  could  un- 
derstand, left  the  room. 

7 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


385 


“ There  she  goes,  like  a skyrocket,”  said  Lord  Frede- 
rick. “ I should  like  to  know  her  impulsion.” 

“ If  her  ladyship  means  to  watch  the  extraordinary 
disappearances  of  Lady  Clancare,”  said  Miss  Craw- 
ley, “ she  will  have  something  to  do.  x Her  stealing 
away  with  General  Fitzwalter  was,  however,  a strong 
measure,  if  this  w^as  their  first  acquaintance.” 

“ You  don’t  mean  that,  my  dear  Miss  Crawley,” 
said  Lord  Frederick,  with  a significant  look.  “If 
this  little  shy  thing  has  had  an  illustre  foiblesse , we 
must  forgive  her  authorship.” 

“ I don’t  wish  to  say  anything  injurious  of  the 
pseudo  Lady  Clancare,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  “ but  it 
will  certainly  surprise  the  people  of  consequence  in 
this  neighborhood  when  they  hear  of  her  being  re- 
ceived at  Dunore.  She  has  nowT  just  returned  from  a 
mysterious  disappearance  of  some  months.” 

“ Oh  ! you  are  raising  her  cent,  per  cent.,  my  dear 
Miss  Crawley,”  exclaimed  Lord  Frederick ; “ if  you 
prove  this  Irish  Sappho  is  a Sappho,  head,  heart,  and 
all,  you  redeem  her  to  all  intents  and  purposes.” 

Lady  Dunore  now  re-entered,  her  countenance 
brightening  into  smiles.  “ It  is  very  extraordinary,” 
she  said,  “ that  none  of  you  could  tell  me  Lady  Clan- 
care went  away  twenty  minutes  before  General  Fitz- 
w alter,  wdiich  I find  is  the  case.” 

• “Are  we  your  lady’s  keeper  ?”  asked  Lord  Fred- 
erick. “ But,  marchioness  of  my. soul,  what  is  your 
extraordinary  anxiety  about  these  new  godsends,  wTho 
seem  to  have  arrived  here  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
keeping  up  the  ebb  and  flow  of  your  solicitude  ? 
Your  secret,  lady  ! Pray  ‘ let  me  not  burst  in  igno- 
rance.’ ” 


886 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ Secret !”  said  Lady  Dunore,  laughing : u why 
should  you  think  I have  any  ?” 

“ Well,  then,  Lady  Clancare’s  secret ; for  we  know, 
as  Rosbrin  would  say,  only  he  is  now  too  tired  to  say 
anything,  you  ‘ could  a tale  unfold ;’  and  Miss  Craw- 
ley has  just  been  giving  us  some  hints  of  Vaimable 
sceleratesse  of  your  Irish  peeress.  In  short,  it  seems 
that  the  inhabitants  of  our  good  city  of  Dunore  do 
not  visit  her.” 

“ And  does  Miss  Crawley  presume,”  said  Lady  Du-  j 
nore,  turning  full  upon  the  shrinking  Miss  Crawley, 

“ does  Miss  Crawley  presume  to  throw  a breath  of 
slander  upon  a friend  of  mine,  to  talk  over  in  village 
commerage  a person  of  Lady  Clancare’s  rank  and 
celebrity  ? ’ 

“ I assure  your  ladyship,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  pale 
with  mortification  and  fear,  “ I did  not  say — did  not 
mean ” 

“ No,  no,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  half  amused  with 
the  consternation  he  came  to  relieve,  “ they  are  ra- 
ther my  surmises  than  Miss  Crawley’s  assertions,  who 
merely  hinted  that 

1 Lips,  though  lovely,  must  still  be  fed,’ 

and  that  if  this  lady  were  not  fed  by  the  gods  with 
nectar  and  ambrosia,  her  mode  of  existence  was  a 
mystery,  if  not  a miracle,  unknown  to  any  one.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  triumphantly,  “ there  is 
a miracle  and  a mystery  in  Lady  Clancare’s  retreat 
from  the  world ; but  its  secret  is  known  to  one  per- 
son, and  I am  that  person,  for  the  rest  you  may  trust 
me.  I would  not  present  in  my  own  exclusive  circle 
one  who  was  not  in  all  points  comme  il  faut.  One 
thing,  however,  I must  generally  observe  to  you  all, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


387 


good  people : Lady  Clan  care  must  not  be  obtruded 
| on ; she  receives  no  visits  from  either  sex ; admits  no 
strangers;  and  I alone  have  obtained  permission  oc- 
casionally to  join  her  in  her  solitude.  Meantime,  I 
stand  pledged  that  no  constraint  shall  be  put  upon 
her  movements.  She  is  to  have  free  ingress  and 
egress,  a plaisir , at  Dunore  Castle,  and  is  to  creep  in 
and  creep  out  like  a pet  kitten,  as  she  expresses  it, 
1 without  let  or  molestation.’  ” 

“ But,  dear  love,”  said  Lady  Georgiana,  as  she  dealt 
round  the  cards  with  sparkling  fingers,  11  your  kitten 
I will  at  least  pur  a little,  1 hope,  for  us.  Do  you  know 
she  was  not  the  least  in  the  world  entertaining  to- 
night ? ” 

“ Well !”  said  Lady  Dunore,  “ don’t  judge  her 
hastily;  leave  her  to  time  and  to  me.”  She  looked 
oracularly  mysterious  as  she  spoke,  cut  in  as  Mr. 
Heneage  cut  out ; and  having  convinced  the  com- 
pany she  had  some  profound  secret  in  her  keeping, 
and  won  fifty  pounds  from  old  Crawley,  she  retired 
to  bed  at  three  in  the  morning,  in  great  elevation  of 
spirits,  repeating  to  Lady  Georgiana,  as  they  parted 
> on  the  corridor  : 

“Well,  after  all,  sweetest,  there  is  nothing  like 
these  wild,  barbarous,  rebellious  countries,  par  exem- 
pt e ; and  gay  as  we  are  now,  and  amused  as  we  are 
with  all  these  judges,  and  Padreen  Gars  boys,  and 
Peruvian  chiefs,  and  things,  there  is  no  saying  but 
we  may  be  all  murdered  before  morning,” 

With  this  consolatory  reflection,  she  kissed  the 
forehead  of  her  sleepy,  smiling  friend,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


— For  I will  tell  you  now 

What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song, 

From  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower. 

Milton. 

General  Fitzwalter  had  alone  observed  the  re- 
treat of  Lady  Claneare.  There  was  something  in 
the  popularity  which  she  enjoyed  as  Bhan  Tierna, 
something  in  her  story,  as  the  representative  of  an 
illustrious  but  ruined  family,  something  in  her  sud- 
den and  unexpected  appearance  in  the  hall  of  Du* 
nore,  which,  taken' together,  and  contrasted  with  her 
youth,  her  very  feminine  person,  unprotected  state, 
and  extreme  reserve,  powerfully  interested  him.  He  j 
had  once  or  twice  also,  as  he  stood  opposite  to  her, 
met  her  eyes,  and  they  were  not  eyes  to  be  met 
with  impunity ; nor  were  their  glances  less  impres- 
sive from  being  suddenly  and  bashfully  withdrawn. 
Still  he  fancied  that  he  could  trace  something  sinis- 
ter in  her  looks ; and  the  singular  mobility  and  intel- 
ligence of  her  peculiar  countenance  were  strangely 
opposed  to  her  timid  and  unbroken  taciturnity,  leav- 
ing it  doubtful  which  was  her  natural  habit,  the  re- 
serve of  a recluse,  or  the  acuteness  of  a practised 
observer. 

While,  therefore,  General  Fitzwalter  pursued  his 
way  along  the  strand,  he  continued  to  puzzle  himself 
in  the  research  after  the  cause  of  her  attraction  (her 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


389 


attraction  for  him  at  least,  for,  after  the  first  surprise 
of  her  appearance,  she  seemed  to  have  excited  little 
interest  in  others) ; he  at  last  summed  it  all  up  in  her 
eyes.  He  had  somewhere  met  such  eyes  before; 
and  whichever  way  he  now  turned  his  own,  whether 
upon  the  stars,  which  seemed  to  start  from  the  hea- 
vens like  wandering  fires,  or  downward  upon  their 
fairy  reflection  in  the  smooth  ebb  tide,  still  the  full, 
dark,  and  fixed  eyes  of  Lady  Clancare  were  before 
him. 

He  had  not  proceeded  many  paces  from  the  ram- 
part wall  of  the  castle  when  Lord  Adelm  overtook 
him. 

“ You  are  an  hour  before  appointment,”  said  Fitz- 
walter,  “ for  the  castle  clock  now  tells  eleven.” 

“ How  could  you  remain  so  long  among  these  tire- 
some people  ?”  returned  Lord  Adelm,  petulantly. 

“ I came  away  as  soon  as  decency  would  permit. 
I waited  for  the  return  of  Lady  Dunore.” 

“ She  had  not  then  returned  when  you  came 
away  ?” 

“ Not  to  the  drawing-room;  but  I heard  her  voice 
in  the  gallery  as  I passed  through  the  hall.” 

“You  can  have  no  idea  how  she  has  crossed  my 
way  to-night,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  in  a tone  of  vexa- 
tion ; “ you  saw  me  receive  a note  ?” 

“Yes,  most  appropriately.  It  produced  in  your 
countenance  a refutation  of  your  doctrine ; and  elo- 
quently proved  that  mind  is  not  wholly  dependent  on 
a 1 good  stomach  and  a bad  heart’  for  its  happiness.” 

“ Yes,  I felt  I was  showing  up  most  confoundedly. 
But  the  circulation  is  still  stronger  than  that  moral 
mover  we  call  reason,  which,  after  all,  means  nothing, 


390 


FLORENCE  MAOARTHY. 


but  more  or  less  of  temperament.  You  guess  who 
the  note  was  from.” 

“ Certainly,  by  its  hue  and  odor.” 

“ W ell,  she  who  has  led  me  here,  has  followed  me 
here,  or  rather  has  preceded  me.” 

“ And  where  is  she  ?” 

“ Perhaps  bedded  in  that  rock,  or,  for  aught  I 
know,  perched  on  the  wing  of  the  sea  breeze  that 
whistles  by  us.  N ow  imagine,  if  you  can,  a contre 
terns  like  this.  The  prettiest  little  French  billet,  en- 
closed in  an  envelope,  which  bore  the  postmark  of 
Dunore,  summoned  me  to  a rock  under  the  castle  ter- 
race, called  the  Hag’s  Tooth.  I was  to  come  alone ; 
not  before  ten,  nor  after  eleven ; this  was  the  only 
stipulation:  1 was  to  be  astonished — this  was  the  only 
promise.  I found  the  spot  with  some  difficulty.  All 
was  solitary  and  silent ; not  even  the  rippling  of  the 
wave,  nor  the  sigh  of  the  gale.  I had  been  at  my 
appointed  post  but  a few  minutes  when  I perceived  a 
female  form,  gliding  like  a sea-nymph  over  the  glit- 
tering sand,  light  as  air,  and  rapid  as  light.  The 
dupe  of  my  heart,  or  my  hopes,  or  what  you  will,  I 
stood  spell-bound.  Had  I beheld  a vision  descending 
from  the  clouds,  it  could  not  have  held  more  influence 
over  my  imagination.  I had  scarcely  power  to 
breathe,  to  stretch  forth  a hand  to  clasp  that  which 
was  presented  to  me. — I did,  however,  clasp  it.” 

“ Then  it  was  a mortal  hand,  true  flesh  and  blood, 
after  ail  ?”  interrupted  the  general,  eagerly. 

“ It  was,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  stamping  his  feet, 
and  grinding  out  his  words : “ it  was  my  mother’s 
hand.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


391 


“Then  the  promise  of  astonishment  was  at  least 
fulfilled.” 

“ Lady  Dunore,  it  seems,  had  herself  received  a 
note,”  continued  Lord  Adelm,  “ advising  her  to 
watch  my  steps  this  evening.  I half  suspect  it  was 
some  trick  of  those  delectable  Crawleys.  She  follow- 
ed me  out : I was  annoyed,  bored  beyond  all  expres- 
sion, and  not  over  guarded  in  concealing  my  feelings, 
a scene  often  repeated  ensued  between  us.  I con- 
demned and  contemned  her  interference  upon  all  oc- 
casions: she  reproached,  retorted,  and  wept;  then 
grew  hysterical  as  usual ; and  in  this  way  I conducted 
her  home.  Trembling  with  apprehension  and  solici- 
tude, I again  issued  forth,  when  that  petite  evaporce , 
my  mother's  new  Irish  caprice,  appeared  in  the  por- 
tico, getting  into  her  mule  cart.  I had  now  to  make 
a second  retreat,  and  saw  her  take  the  strand  road 
with  such  feelings  of  patience  and  pleasure  as  you 
may  suppose.  At  last,  literally  speaking,  the  coast 
was  clear,  and  I bent  my  steps  towards  the  rock  of 
my  disappointed  hopes ; for  there  I found  only  this 
black  handkerchief,  or  scarf,  a token  of  my  ill  luck, 
and  an  indication,  of  course,  that  my  sylph  had  been 
true  to  her  appointment,  and  had  kept  it,  while  I was 
conducting  my  mother  home.  Now  what  think  you 
of  all  this  ?” 

“ Think ! why,  that  your  sylph  is  some  devoted 
woman;  so  ingenious,  so  zealous  in  her  devotion, 
that  did  there  exist  for  me  such  a being ” 

“ I have  examined  the  handkerchief,”  interrupted 
Lord  Adelm,  “ and  I should  think  there  was  magic 
in  the  web  of  it;  but  that  it  bears  a sign  to  conjure 
away  all  magic  : a red  cross  is  embroidered  on  its 


892 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


centre ; it  is,  too,  of  Spanish  manufacture,  of  true 
Barcelona  workmanship.” 

“ ’Tis  altogether  most  strange,  most  romantic,  and 
most  flattering,”  returned  the  general,  thoughtfully, 
as  they  proceeded  arm  in  arm,  and  in  silence,  each 
apparently  wrapped  in  profound  musings,  till  they  ar- 
rived beneath  a sweep  of  irregular  and  massive  cliffs, 
above  which,  dark  and  indistinct,  rose  the  ruins  and 
cemetery  of  Monaster-ny-Oriel. 

The  pathway  to  the  coast,  cut  centuries  back  by 
the  monks,  and  the  round-topped,  perforated  cross, 
which  they  had  raised  at  its  entrance,  to  the  honor  of 
St.  Peter,  the  fisherman,  and  as  a landmark  to  dis- 
tressed  mariners,  still  remained.  The  friends  as-  j 
cended  this  rude,  rocky  avenue  by  a flight  of  steep, 
unevenly  hewn  steps,  piled  on  either  side  with  a stra- 
tum of  human  bones  (a  gloomy  order  of  architecture 
not  unusual  in  the  ancient  burying  grounds  of  Ire- 
land), and  terminating  in  a circular  and  spacious  man- 
dra  (13).  The  night  was  still  and  dark;  a few  stars 
only  glimmered  in  the  cloudy  firmament. 

The  peculiar  genius  of  Lord  Adelm  was  well 
adapted  to  scenes  and  seasons  characterized  by  images 
gloomy  and  fantastic  as  his  own  morbid  fancy.  He 
paused  frequently  in  his  wearisome  ascent,  while  his 
more  active  companion  strode  on  rapidly  before  him : 
and  when  he  had  reached  the  summit  of  the  rocks 
which  formed  the  site  of  the  monastic  ruins,  he 
halted,  and  looked  around  him.  The  scene  was  wild, 
desolate  and  silent — rocks,  ruins,  remote  mountains, 
bounding  the  land  view;  while  the  steep  Atlantic 
spread  wide  and  dark,  and  lost  itself  in  the  distant 
clouds. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


393 


u These  are  scenes,’5  said  Lord  Adelm,  “ that  trans- 
port us  beyond  the  present,  that  bear  us  into  regions 
of  thought  and  feeling,  beyond  all  mean  ambition  and 
human  cares.” 

“ They  are  better  adapted  to  prelude  the  tale  I 
would  unfold  to  you,”  said  Fitz waiter,  impressively. 

“ Your  story !”  said  Lord  Adelm,  in  a tone  of  recok 
lection  (for  over  the  mirror  of  his  imagination  reflec- 
tions passed  rapidly;  and  it  was  only  now  he  recol- 
lected the  purpose  for  which  he  accompanied  his  new 
friend  to  the  Friary  of  St.  John’s  at  an  hour  so  un- 
seasonable)— “ Oh  ! ay,  I had  half  forgotten  your 
story.” 

They  now  ascended  the  spiral  stairs  of  the  tower, 
O’Leary , from  above,  held  forward  a lamp,  whose 
light  produced  uncertain  shadows  upon  the  dark 
damp  wall ; but  when  he  perceived  by  its  flickering 
ray  that  his  guest  was  accompanied  by  Lord  Adelm 
Fitzadelm,  he  started  back,  then  came  again  forward, 
and  drew  up  against  the  doorcase  to  let  them  pass, 
changing  the  lamp  to  his  left  hand,  that  he  might 
make  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  breast  with  his 
right,  as  a sort  of  exorcism,  on  an  event  which,  to  his 
confused  and  wandering  mind,  appeared  little  less 
than  miraculous.  He  then  followed  them  into  the 
room,  where  a fire  had  already  been  kindled  in  the 
open  hearth ; the  candles  also  stood  ready  lighted  ; 
yet,  under  various  pretences,  he  lingered  in  the 
, apartment,  occasionally  coming  forward  with  the 
snuffers,  and  snatching  hasty  and  anxious  looks  at 
the  two  gentlemen,  who  were  already  seated  at  a 
little  deal  table,  both  leaning  on  their  elbows,  both 
earnestly  conversing  in  Spanish.  O'Leary,  as  he 


394 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


gazed  on  them  with  a half-murmured  exclamation; 
crossed  himself  devoutly,  and  made  new  causes  for 
delay;  till  the  general,  telling  him  that  he  had  no 
further  occasion  for  his  services  that  night,  perempto- 
rily desired  him  to  retire  to  rest ; he  then  slowly  re- 
treated, and  was  twice  called  back  to  shut  the  door 
before  he  obeyed. 

The  morning  after  this  midnight  interview,  O'Leary, 
at  an  hour  later  than  usual,  entered  the  apartment  of 
the  general  to  attend  at  his  toilette  and  breakfast. 
He  found  him,  however,  asleep,  in  Friar  O Sullivan’s 
great  chair,  wThere  he  had  left  him  seated  the  night 
before,  and  his  bed  had  not  been  occupied.  His  re- 
pose was  so  profound  that  O’Leary  had  rekindled  his 
turf  fire,  and  got  ready  his  dressing  things,  without 
awakening  him.  But  the  heavy  pacing  about  the 
room,  and  murmured  ejaculations  of  the  pedagogue, 
at  last  aroused  him  from  his  slumber. 

“ I’m  afeard  I put  the  sleep  astray  upon  your 
honor,”  said  O’Leary,  with  an  anxious  look. 

“ It  is  time,  I believe,  to  rise,  O’Leary,  is  it  not  ?” 
said  the  general,  starting  up,  and  shaking  off  his 
“ obedient  slumbers,”  as  one  accustomed  to  snatch 
repose,  when,  where,  and  as  he  could,  and  to  dismiss 
it  at  will. 

“ To  rise !”  said  O’Leary,  shaking  his  head,  “ and 
your  honor  not  in  bed,  gineral,  the  whole  live  long 
night,  sir !” 

“ How  do  you  know  that,  O Leary  ?” 

“ How  do  I know  it  ? Why,  the  day  was  breaking 
on  the  Atlantic,  plaze  your  honor,  when  I saw  the 
young  lord  going  down  the  rock,  there,  and  you 
looking  after  him  from  the  top  of  the  Friar’s  Leap, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


395 


as  it  is  called : and  wonders  but  he’d  be  afeard  to  be 
wandering  his  lone  that  way  in  the  country.  It’s  lit- 
tle his  father,  Baron  Gerald,  would  dare  it,  great  a 
i Calebalaro’*  as  he  was  ; for  he  was  a sould  man,  sir, 
from  the  time  he  planned  the  ruination  of  young  De 
Montenay ; and  it’s  only  for  him  your  honor  would 
be  alive  and  hearty  this  day ; not  all  as  one — that’s 
his  own  nephew  I mane ; and  when  I saw  you  both 
seated  cheek  by  jowl  last  night,  and  my  Pacata  Hi- 
bernia between  yez,  it  minded  me  the  ,last  time  I seen 
the  two  brothers  at  Court  Fitzadelm  together  ; it  was 
a little  time  after  the  Honorable  Gerald  had  married 
the  great  English  lady,  th’  ould  marchioness  that  is 
now,  and  who  came  over  his  lone  to  Ireland.  They 
were  seated  together  in  th’  oak  parlor,  that's  the  two 
Tiernas,  with  a tankard  of  claret,  and  a bottle  of 
brandy  to  qualify  it,  between  them.  I was  only 
called  in  about  a date,  being  then  at  the  court,  and 
corned  to  see  the  child;  for  the  rumor  was,  he  was 
going  to  be  carried  to  Dublin  by  his  uncle : and  his 
mother  only  buried  the  week  before ; and  the  Tierna 
Dhu  handed  me  a glass  of  wine,  saying,  pleasantly, 
he  believed  I’d  rather  the  whiskey.’7 

“ I’m  afraid,”  said  the  general,  smiling,  who  was 
preparing  for  a sea-bath  before  he  went  to  breakfast, 
“ I’m  afraid,  O’Leary,  that  preference  still  clings  to 
you ; and  I was  sorry  when  I looked  in  on  you  this 
morning,  to  find  you  sleeping  in  your  clothes,  with  a 
bottle  of  spirits  half  consumed  by  your  side.  This  i3 
not  the  way  to  recover  your  health  and  compose  your 
mind,  O’Leary.” 

M And  did  your  honor  look  in  on  me  ?”  said 

* Cavalier. 


896 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


O’Leary,  in  a softened  tone.  “ And  never  feltf  you5 
gineral,  dear ; for  when  I went  to  my  truckle  I fell 
asleep  like  a rock,  sir.  But  as  to  the  whiskey,  sir, 
you  need  not  fear  it,  and  only  laves  it  by  way  of  two- 
milk- whey  at  my  bedside ; for  whiskey,  plaze  your 
honor,  is  so  qualified  in  the  making,  that  it  dryeth 
more,  and  inflameth  less,  than  other  hot  confections. 
It  showeth  age  (saith  the  philosopher),  and  helpeth 
youth;  it  reviveth  the  heart,  lighteneth  the  mind, 
quickeneth  the  spirits,  keepeth  the  veins  from  crump- 
ling, the  bones  from  aching,  and  the  marrow  from 
soaking.  Musha  ! it’s  the  elixir  of  life,  and  only  for 
it,  i’d  be  dead  long  ago.  For  when  the  world  de- 
serted me,  that  staid  by  me  ; and  when  I lost  joy  else- 
where, sure  it’s  there  I found  it,  sir.” 

O’Leary  had  pronounced  this  eulogium  on  his  fa- 
vorite beverage  as  he  followed  the  general  down  the 
rocks  to  a little  creek,  or  basin,  which  was  always  suf- 
ficiently full  to  afiord  a bath ; and  then,  having  left 
him  his  dressing-gown,  at  his  desire  he  went  back  to 
prepare  his  coffee.  When  the  general  returned,  and 
had  seated  himself  at  the  breakfast-table,  with  a book 
in  his  hand,  as  he  was  wont,  O'Leary,  who  attended 
him,  took  his  place  in  a window-seat,  at  a respectful 
distance.  He  drew  forth  an  old  tattered  volume, 
which  for  a few  minutes  fixed  his  attention ; but,  ha- 
bitually wandering  and  unsettled,  his  rapid  eyes 
glanced  frequently  from  his  studies  to  the  general, 
who,  like  himself,  seemed  incapable  of  giving  a conti- 
nued attention  to  the  book,  which  he  held  open  in 
his  hand.  O’Leary,  perceiving  that  his  guest  had 
laid  down  the  volume,  and  leaned  thoughtfully  on  his 
f A common  Irish  idiom. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


397 


elbow,  closed  also  his  own ; and,  advancing  to  pour 
out  some  coffee,  observed : 

“ I think,  your  honor,  the  memoir  I am  perusing  of 
the  Fitzmaurices  of  Lixnow,  a great  branch  of  the 
Geraldines,  and  Lords  of  Muskerry,  would  plaze  you 
intirely.  Och ! it’s  a great  legend ! It’s  done  into 
rhyme,  sir,  Irish  rhyme,  by  a priest,  who  was  confes- 
sor to  the  family.  The  argument  runneth  thus  : The 
young  Lord  Thomas  Fitzmaurice,  of  Lixnow,  was  in 
foreign  parts  fighting  against  the  pagans,  when  the 
Barony  of  Muskerry  fell  to  him  by  right.  And,  it 
being  reported  that  he  was  captured  by  the  Turks,  an 
usurper,  a bastard  of  the  family,  did  forthwith  start 
up  and  seize  his  title  and  domains.  And  the  Lord 
Thomas,  when  the  wars  were  over,  would  have  re- 
turned a beggar,  but  for  his  faithful  fosterer,  one  J oan 
Harman,  sir,  an  ould  Irish  servitor  of  the  family,  mar- 
ried to  an  English  bowman.  She  was  aged  and  in- 
firm; but,  when  the  rumor  was  spread  of  the  devised 
usurpation,  she  took  ship  at  Dingle  (then  a great 
port),  and  was  landed  in  France,  where  the  young 
lord  was  at  court,  as  became  his  nobility  (having 
changed  the  service  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria  for 
that  of  the  French  king).  And  there  Joan  sought 
him  out,  and  made  him  acquainted  with  the  ill  tidings, 
and  brought  him  back  without  delay ; and  saw  him 
cross  the  threshold  of  his  own  castle,  and  restored  to 
his  fair  possessions.  And  one  calendar  month,  from 
the  date  of  her  mission,  as  she  foretold,  she  died ; 

* being  the  day  of  the  young  lord’s  investiture  in  his 
[ancient  honor.  For  I’ve  heard  tell  the  heart  will 
break  with  joy  as  well  as  sorrow;  and  shows  the 
room  to  this  hour  where  Joan  Harman  died.  Och  ! 


398 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


it  would  not  grieve  me  a taste  to  be  old  Joan  Har- 
man this  day,  if  it  was  the  will  of  God ; for  it’s  re- 
markable that  affections  of  fosterage  never  weaken, 
but 

{ Per  longas  invaluere  moras.’ 

And  there  was  little  use  in  making  gossipping  and 
fosterage  treason,  by  the  famous  statute  of  Kilkenny; 
for  they  both  only  just  flourished  the  more. 

“ Now  gossipred,  or  confraternity,  plaze  your 
honor,  was  said  to  produce  confederacies  of  actions 
in  all  things,  whether  lawful  or  unlawful;  but  foster- 
age proved  an  iron  link  to  bind  the  affections  for 
laudable  purposes,  not  only  of  the  fosterers  and  fost- 
ered, but  of  the  friends  and  relations  on  each  side ; 
and  it  bound  the  Irishry  to  the  English  by  descent : 
as  the  O’ Callaghans  to  the  Butlers  formerly,  and  the 
O Learys  to  the  Fitzadeims  to  this  blessed  hour,  do 
you  see,  your  honor.” 

“ But,”  said  the  general,  throwing  down  his  book, 
which  he  had  for  a moment  resumed,  and  rising  in 
agitation,  to  place  himself  opposite  to  O’Leary,  who 
had  resumed  his  seat,  but  who  now  rose  also — “ but, 
O Leary,  love  and  faith  are  not  alone  sufficient,  where 
there  is  a perilous  confidence  to  place,  where  the 
point  at  issue  may  be  property,  freedom,  1 life  itself;’ 
there  must  also  be  discretion,  prudence,  firmness, 
vigilance,  command  of  thoughts,  of  looks,  of  feelings, 
and  of  language.” 

As  he  spoke,  O’Leary  advanced  step  by  step,  but 
trembling,  and  gradually  folding  and  compressing  his 
hands,  his  mouth  half  open,  his  color  livid,  as  if  he 
expected  something  he  almost  feared  to  learn. 
“ 0;Leary,”  continued  the  general,  in  a calmer  voice, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


399 


and  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  “ O’Leary,*^ 
sit  down,  compose  yourself,  and  hear  me.” 

O’Leary  in  part  obeyed.  He  sat  down,  but  his 
composure  was  irrecoverable.  He  remained  for  a 
few  minutes  silent.  Suspense,  hope,  fear,  almost  to 
agony,  were  pictured  in  his  countenance ; while,  with 
a mechanical  motion,  he  stooped  to  pick  up  a black 
silk  handkerchief  which  had  fallen  from  his  breast,  to 
wipe  the  cold  drops  that  now  bedewed  his  furrowed 
forehead,  and  rolled  down  his  colorless  cheek.  A 
crimson  cross  worked  in  its  centre  caught  General 
Fitz waiter’s  eye ; he  started  up,  and  snatched  the 
handkerchief  from  O’Leary’s  hand. 

“ How  came  you  by  this  hankerchief?”  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

O’Leary,  with  a wild  and  wandering  look,  his  mind 
bent  upon  other  objects,  made  an  effort  at  recollec- 
tion, then  replied : 

“ The  kerchief,  sir  ? is  it  the  kerchief  with  the  cross 
on  it?  Oh!  plaze  your  honor,  I did  not  mane 'to 
purloin  it,  only  return  it,  sir,  to  the  right  owner, 
plaze  God.” 

“ And  who  is  that  ?”  demanded  the  general,  with 
impatience. 

“ Is  it  who  owns  it,  gineral  ?”  replied  O’Leary,  en- 
deavoring to  recover  himself.  “ If  it  is  not  the  Span- 
ish-American  nun,  sir,  owns  it,  one  Madam  Florence 
Macarthy,  I don’t  guess  who  can  own  it ; that’s  in 
respect  of  the  blessed  and  holy  cross.” 

“ Did  you  say  Florence  Macarthy  ?”  asked  the  gen- 
eral, with  great  emotion,  and  in  a voice  scarcely  arti- 
culate— “ a nun  from  Spanish  America?” 

“ I did,  your  honor,”  replied  O’Leary  in  a low 


400 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


voice,  as  he  contemplated  with  apprehension  the 
change  which  had  taken  place  in  the  general’s  coun- 
tenance— u Florence  Macarthy,  sir,  Did  you  know 
her,  gineral,  in  foreign  parts  ? Her  father  was  son 
to  the  ould  Earl  of  Clancare’s  brother.  He  went  to 
be  made  a merchant  of  in  some  of  the  West  India 
islands ; and  was  the  first  of  the  family  that  turned 
his  hands  to  business,  which  made  a great  noise  in 
the  country ; and  then  he  went  into  South  America, 
and  joined  the  wars  there,  when  they  first  broke  out, 
as  I heard  tell,  and  was  killed,  or  died  there ; I disre- 
member  me  which.  And  his  daughter,  Florence 
Macarthy,  his  only  child,  went  into  a convent,  her 
aunt  being  an  abbess  somewhere  in  Spain : so  Father 
O’Sullivan  tould  me.  And  when  it  was  broke  up  by 
the  French  army,  who  let  loose  the  craturs,  she  fled 
back  to  Ireland,  to  her  people  in  her  own  barony, 
which  she  had  quit  when  a child ; and  none  was  in  it 
left,  only  the  Bhan  Tierna,  and  one  Mrs.  Honor  Ma- 
carthy, called  Honor  ni  Sancta , or  Holy  Honor,  who 
is  the  superior  of  ‘Our  Lady  of  the  Annunciation,1 
near  the  Abbey  of  the  Holy  Cross ; and  when  there 
wa s a place  vacant  in  the  convent,  which  was  soon, 
Madam  Florence  Macarthy  went  to  the  convent,  and 
was  brought  there  by  the  Countess,  who  has  no  voca- 
\ tion  that  way,  the  little  sowl,  with  her  caencothar , as 
her  ould  grand  dadda  used  to  call  her  curly  black  head ; 
and  the  mouth  and  teeth  of  her,  just  like  a young 
hound’s,  in  regard  of  her  red  gums,  gineral.” 

A silence  of  many  minutes  succeeded  to  this  in- 
formation and  accompanying  digression  of  O’Leary’s, 
who  usually  “ drew  the  thread  of  his  verbosity  finer 
than  his  argument.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


401 


At  last  the  general,  who  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  apartment  in  great  agitation,  stopped  opposite  to 
O’Leary,  and  asked,  “ Where  did  you  find  that  hand- 
kerchief? How  came  you  by  it  ?” 

“ How  came  I by  it,  sir,  is  it  ? I came  by  it,  sir, 
when  I was  just  creeping  out  for  a mouthful  of  fresh 
air,  before  dawn,  this  morning,  and  was  looking  up  at 
the  light  in  your  casement,  gineral,  and  thinking  there 
must  be  shanaos*  between  you  and  the  young  lord, 
would  keep  you  up  all  night,  and  my  foot  caught  in 
this  kerchief,  sir,  and  I thought  it  was  my  own ; only 
when  daylight  came  I saw  it  was  not,  for,  by  the 
cross  marked  on  it  in  the  centre,  I thought  it  must  be 
Madam  Florence  Macarthy’s,  in  regard  of  the  cipher 
done  in  weeny  red  letters,  sir.”  O’Leary  pointed  to 
the  small  f.  m.  in  the  corner  as  he  spoke.  “ But  the 
wonder  of  the  world,”  he  added,  “ is,  what  would  be 
bringing  her  here  among  the  rocks,  and  she  settled 
down  in  her  own  convent  in  Tipperary  County,  sir, 
and  is  to  take  the  vow  in  the  beginning  of  the  month, 
and  a great  sight  it  will  be.” 

“Did  you  ever  see  this  Florence  Macarthy?”  asked 
the  general,  after  a pause,  and  standing  opposite  to 
O’Leary,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

“ I did,  gineral,  often,  when  she  was  for  a month  at 
Castle  Macarthy,  and  afore  she  went  into  her  convent, 
and  used  to  come  down  here  to  the  great  Macarthy- 
More’s  tomb  in  the  monastery,  and  remained  half  the 
length  of  the  day  on  her  knees  before  it.  Och  ! sir, 
that’s  the  saint,  if  there’s  one  upon  earth  ; and  it’s  ex- 
traordinary, but  her  cousin,  oncet  removed,  Lady 
Clancare  would  be  taking  a turn  that  way,  too, — and 
* Family  tradition,  genealogical  details. 


402 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


she  brought  up  in  a convent,  too,  and  never  had  a 
calling,  only  laughing,  and  showing  them  white  teeth 
of  hers,  and  circumventing  the  Crawley’s,  and  has 
great  learning  and  fine  Irish,  for  all  that,  to  say  no- 
thing of  her  being  mighty  comical.” 

“ Does  Miss  Macarthy  resemble  her  cousin,  Lady 
Clancare  ?” 

“ Why  then,  gineral,  I could  not  well  tell  you  that, 
in  regard  of  never  seeing  her  face,  only  with  a thick 
black  veil  over  it,  and  never  showed  it  to  sun  or  moon, 
they  say,  barring  Fra  O’Sullivan,  who  confesses  both 
ladies” 

The  general  now  resumed  his  seat  and  book,  re- 
questing O’Leary  to  return  to  his  school. 

“ You  may  lay  out  my  writing-desk,  O’Leary,”  he 
added,  “ and no ; don’t  take  away  that  handker- 

chief; and  pray  shut  the  door  after  you : I wish  to 
be  left  alone.” 

O’Leary  sighed  deeply,  and  laid  down  one  writing 
article  after  another ; at  last,  taking  up  a pen  to  mend 
it,  he  observed  : 

“ I thought,  gineral,  when  I was  brushing  your 
coat  yesterday,  sir,  and  you  dressing  for  the  castle 
dinner,  that  I heard  you  mintion  a word  of  going 
away  in  a day  or  two,  if  the  wind  was  fair,  sir ; and  a 
bit  of  a shij)  coming  into  port  of  Cork ; and  that — 
and  then — and  I thought  your  honor  said  something, 
sir,  about  the  say  sickness  being  good  for  my  com- 
plaint ; and  that  you  was  going  to — — and  the  kerchief 
then  came  in  the  way ; that's  this  morning,  gineral,  a 
bit  ago.” 

“ And  would  you,  O’Leary,”  said  the  general,  in  a 
voice  of  great  kindness,  “ would  you  leave  your  home, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


403 


your  country,  to  follow  me,  uncertain,  as  you  must 
: be,  whom 

“Would  I?”  interrupted  O'Leary,  with  a burst  of 
emotion,  in  which  consciousness  and  insanity  seemed 
to  struggle  for  supremacy — “ would  I ?”  and  he  fell 
at  the  general’s  feet,  and  seized  his  hands,  while  his 
tears  fell  fast.  “Would  I follow  you,  is  it?  Didn’t 
I lose  my  senses  for  you  ? Didn’t  I leave  home,  and 
i kin,  and  friends,  to  wander  the  world  over  for  you, 
when  you  werent  in  it?  And  now  that  you  are  be- 
fore me,  with  your  mother’s  smile — see  here,  gine- 
ral,”  and  he  attempted  a tone  of  firm  composure; 

" “ if  you  aren’t  yourself,  and  would  tell  me  that  at 
once,  there  would  be  an  end  of  all;  and  I would  be 
what  I was  before  I met  you  in  the  mountains,  and 
still  would  go  on  quietly,  and  would  just,  some  fine 
morning,  lie  down  in  the  sun,  like  old  Cumhal,  and 
; die.” 

The  general,  in  irrepressible  emotion,  with  difii- 
! culty  released  his  hand  from  the  maniac  grasp  of 
O’Leary;  then  drawing  from  his  breast  an  ancient 
missal,  he  opened  its  clasps,  and  showed  opposite  to 
one  of  its  illuminated  pages,  two  certificates  of  a 
marriage  and  a birth.  O’Leary  seized  the  sacred  vo- 
lume, and  kissed  it  eagerly  and  devoutly,  with  a look 
of  anxious  recognition.  The  general  hurried  it  back 
: to  his  breast. 

“ You  stand  pledged  to  God  and  to  me,  O’Leary,” 
said  the  general  in  a deep  and  affecting  voice. 

O’Leary  remained  silent,  but  his  lips  moved  rapid- 
ly ; his  eyes  wandered  wildly  over  the  face  that  fas- 
I cinated  his  gaze,  till  at  last  his  clasp  relaxed  its  firm- 
ness, his  eyes  closed,  and  he  would  have  fallen  to 


404 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  earth  if  the  general  had  not  received  him  in  his 
arms. 

“ O’Leary,  my  old  boy !”  he  said,  bearing  him  to 
the  fresh  air  admitted  at  the  open  window ; and  at 
this  well-remembered  epithet,  O’Leary,  shaking  off 
his  faintness,  cried  with  a burst  of  hysteric  laughter : 

“ That's  it ! that’s  the  voice  I have  heard  in  the 
lone  mountains  by  day  and  by  night.  They  tould 
me  it  was  my  fitch.  My  fitch ! oh,  wirra !”  and  he 
wept  freely.  Then  suddenly  drying  his  eyes,  and 
throwing  their  rapid  glances  over  the  face  of  Fitz- 
walter,  whose  hand  he  still  held,  new  lineaments 
seemed  to  start  forth  to  his  recollection,  and  he  con- 
tinued to  repeat : “ And  there  was  a mole  under  the 
curls  of  the  left  temple ; and  axes  your  honor’s  par- 
don— yes,  there  it  is;  and  the  curls  too,  only  far 
blacker.  Shoosheen  used  to  call  it  the  fairy’s  lock, 
because  the  world  wouldn’t  take  the  curl  out  of  it ; 
and  weren’t  drowned  after  all ; sure  I said  so.  And 
them  transport  ships  off  the  coast,  from  Cork.  And 
how  was  it,  gineral,  dear?  And  the  boat  there, 
turned  upside  down,  when  we  went  out  to  look  for 
you;  and  your  foster-mother  had  sat  up  all  night, 
and  had  a warning.  And  not  many  nights  she  sat 
up  after — barring  at  her  own  wake,  God  help  her; 
and  that  was  too  much  for  any  man ; and  twenty- 
two  years  ago ! and  all  that  time  never  to  claim 
your  own,  nor  just  write  one’s  own  foster-father  a 
line  from  foreign  parts ; and  so  ready  at  the  pen  for- 
merly, in  respect  of  them  themes  and  exercises  !” 

“ O’Leary,”  said  the  general,  in  a firm  and  impos- 
ing voice,  “let  it  suffice  that  I live,  and  am  here; 
that  I have  returned  to  my  native  country  with  a 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


405 


name  as  distinguished,  through  my  own  exertions, 
as  that  which  I received  from  my  forefathers ; a 
name,  too,  not  assumed,  but  inherited ; for,  after  the 
ancient  manner  of  my  family,  I have  but  given  the 
Norman  prefix  to  my  father’s  baptismal  appellation.” 
O’Leary  started,  “Fitzwalter!  Walter,  the  Black 
Baron,  and  never  thought  of  that.  Och  ! I’ve  a poor 
head  now,  and  a beating  in  it  that  wears  the  life  out 
of  me,  by  times.  To  be  sure,  Walter  de  Montenay 
Fitzwalter;  the  ould  Geraldine  fashion  evermore.” 

“ For  the  rest,  O’Leary,  secrecy  the  most  profound 
of  my  present  existence  in  this  neighborhood  is  ne- 
cessary. It  is  for  the  interest  of  many  that  I should 
never  reappear.  My  presence  here,  i’f  even  suspect- 
ed, might  endanger  my  life  or  liberty;  besides,  I 
wish  to  avoid  all  publicity — to  compromise  rather 
than  contend,  and  to  save  the  honor  of  my  family, 
by  touching  lightly  on  the  crimes  of  one  of  its  mem- 
bers ; or,  if  possible,  by  burying  them  in  eternal 
oblivion.” 

“ That’s  the  Honorable  Gerald,”  interrupted 
O’Leary,  “ the  Marquis,  and  Lord  Adelm’s  father.” 

“ It  matters  not  whom,  O’Leary,”  said  the  general, 
eagerly ; “ and  now  leave  me  for  the  present ; resume 
your  ordinary  habits;  be  secret — be  circumspect — 
my  life  is  in  your  hands ; but  hold  yourself  in  readi- 
ness to  depart  at  a moment’s  warning.  Had  it  not 
been  for  a circumstance  that  has  become  accidentally 
known  to  me  this  morning,  I should  have  left  this 
country  to-night,  and  even  as  it  is,  perhaps.” 

“ To-night !”  repeated  O’Leary,  who  had  moved  a 
few  paces,  but  who  still  loitered  at  the  door. 

“ To-night.  I must  first,  however,  see  the 


406 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Countess  of  Clancare  ; and  I think  I will  try  my  for- 
tune at  her  door  in  an  hour  hence.” 

“ You  will,  sir !”  said  O'Leary,  in  astonishment. 
“ See  that — and  in  amity,  plaze  your  honor?” 

“ Certainly  not  in  enmity,”  returned  the  general, 
smiling.  “ But  you  seem  surprised  by  my  intention, 
O’Leary.” 

“No,  plaze  your  lord- , your  honor,  I mane; 

not  a taste;  for  sure  ’twas  just  the  same  anno  1821, 
when  the  English  by  blood  leagued  with  the  Irish 
mere,  in  the  common  cause,  that’s  ould  Ireland,  sir; 
and  enemies  before,  became  fast  friends  sithence,  as 
Ayphraim  against  Menasses,  and  Menasses  against 
Ayphraim;  and  both  united  against  the  tribe  of 
Judah,  that’s  the  Crawleys,  sir,  the  land  pirates! — • 
and  will  step  down  and  order  your  fine  new  charger 
from  Cork,  sir,  to  be  brought  from  the  Dunore  Arms, 
and  will  put  on  my  Sunday  apparel,  and  mount 
the  little  Kerry  asturiones,  and  ride  after  your  honor 
in  the  capacity  of  an  ecury  as  is  right  and  fitting, 

till  your  lord , till  you  have  a better  — — , and 

will  just  induct  Teague  Rourke,  my  head  Homer, 
into  the  office  of  my  coadjutor  and  assistant  in  the 
seminary;  that  is,  gineral,  he’ll  tache  the  classes, 
while  I’ll  attind  your  honor.” 

“No,  O’Leary,”  said  the  general,  shaking  his  head, 
“ that  will  never  do.  You  must  return  to  your 
learned  runagates,  of  whom  I found  you  so  justly 
proud  when  I arrived  here ; and  if  you  do  not  wish 
me  to  repent  of  the  confidence  I have  placed  in  you, 
you  will  in  no  respect  change  your  wonted  habits.” 
“Then  I’ll  engage  I won’t,  sir,”, replied  O’Leary, 
emphatically ; “ and  never  will  call  you  my  lord,  till 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


407 


the  day  of  judgment — that  is,  till  all’s  proved ; and 
your  lordship,  the  great  Marquis  of  Dunore  (which 
you  are  at  this  blessed  moment),  taking  possession  of 
your  castle ; for  fortune,  though  she  be  portrayed  to 
stand  upon  a rolling  stone,  as  being  flighty  by  nature, 
yet  for  the  most  part  she  helpeth  such  as  be  of  coura- 
geous mind  and  valiant  stomach.  Did  not  Thomyris 
the  Scythian  queen,  and  collateral  ancestor  of  the 
Macarthies,  by  her  great  spirit,  with  a few  hundred 
followers,  bate  Cyrus  entirely,  with  many  thousands  ? 

and  did  not , but  I will  not  bother  your  lordship 

with  needless  tediousness,  only  just  will  defy  the 
world,  from  this  day  out,  to  prove  that  I care  a tes- 
toon  for  you;  and  thought,  sir,  that  I’d  ride  the  astu- 
riones  after  you,  to  show  you  the  way,  sir,  to  Castle 
Macarthy.” 

“ I should,  for  many  reasons,  prefer  going  alone,” 
said  the  general. 

“ Och ! very  well,  gineral ; sure  I have  no  controul 
over  you  now,  sir,  why  would  I,  only  in  respect  of 
finding  out  the  Bhan  Tierna,  wdio  does  not  care  to  be 
in  the  way  of  the  quality;  foreby  being  always  in 
the  fields,  or  on  her  own  mountains,  from  sunrise  to 
sunset,  just  like  a little  grasshopper,  the  sowl ! 
chirping  and  hopping,  and  living  on  dews  and  air,  as 
one  would  say;  that’s  as  Anacreon  says,  sir;  and  re- 
members your  construing  that  same  into  mighty 
pretty  Latin ; and  you  only  twelve  years  old  and 
three  months.” 

“ You  may  order  my  horse  in  an  hour  hence,”  said 
the  general. 

O’Leary  now  drew  towards  the  door,  throwing 
back  one  eager,  anxious,  and  affectiojnate  look,  which 


408 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  general  returned  with  an  expressive  smile, 
O’Leary  raised  his  eyes  in  thanksgiving,  murmured 
an  Irish  prayer,  dashed  the  gathering  tears  from  his 
eyes,  and  crossing  his  hands  behind  him,  retired,  mut- 
tering to  himself  as  he  slowly  descended  the  steep 
stairs : “ And  Cumhal  the  cratur,  not  alive  to  see  this  < 
day !” 

An  hour  had  scarcely  elapsed  when  O’Leary,  § 
mounted  on  the  fine  horse  he  had  alluded  to,  ap- 
peared under  the  window  of  the  apartment.  He 
had  thrown  off  his  pedagogue  costume,  was  habited  j 
in  his  gala  dress  of  many  coats,  had  put  on  a new 
wig  and  hat,  was  shaved  unusually  close*  and  ex- 
hibited a countenance  far  indeed  from  placid,  but 
from  which  every  trace  of  anxiety  and  solitude  was 
banished.  The  flutter  of  new-born,  unexpected  hap- 
piness still  distinguished  his  manner.  He  had  given 
his  boys  an  holiday,  and  was  incapable  of  fixing  his 
attention  to  his  daily  habits ; but  there  was  an  air  of 
contentment  about  him,  which  indicated  an  evident 
revolution  in  feelings  and  ideas.  His  short  cough, 
and  expressions  of  kindness  to  the  animal  on  which  ! 
he  was  mounted,  drew  General  Fitzwalter  to  the 
window ; and  he  stood  for  a moment  contemplating  ji 
this  warm-hearted,  zealous,  and  devoted  being,  with  ; 
an  emotion  of  pride  and  benevolence,  as  one  who, 
true  to  human  sympathy,  beholds  with  triumph  the  i 
happiness  he  has  created. 

In  a few  minutes  he  was  mounted  on  his  steed ; 
and  O’Leary  continued  to  walk  beside  him,  with  one 
hand  behind  his  back,  and  the  other  leaning  on  the 
horse's  flank. 

“I’ll  just  step  on  a taste  with  your  honor,”  he  ob- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


409 


served,  to  excuse  his  intrusion,  “ to  show  the  good 
road,  sir,  and  open  the  little  gates,  and  remove  the 
brambles  that  stop  up  the  gaps  in  the  mearings,  be* 
twixt  the  potato  grounds  of  the  Dunore  tenants.” 

To  this  the  general  made  no  objection ; and  O’Lea- 
ry continued : 

“ And  so  you  are  going,  giniral,  jewel,  to  make 
your  courtesies,  and  to  pay  your  obeysance  to  the 
Countess  of  Clancare,  which  makes  the  friar’s  words 
come  true,  anno  1505.” 

“ What  friar,  and  what  words,  O’Leary  ?” 

“ Och  ! a holy  man,  your  honor,”  said  O’Leary,  low- 
ering his  voice,  and  raising  his  head  towards  the  gen- 
eral’s ear,  “ who  was  superior  of  the  order  here,  in 
the  time  of  the  first  Lord  Dunore,  who  got  the  castle 
after  the  Macarthies,  and  who  chased  away  the  broth- 
erhood. He  left  a curse  on  Dunore  Castle,  which  re- 
mains unredeemed  to  this  day.  His  prophecy,  which 
is  in  Irish,  may  be  thus  construed : 

Macarthy  More  shall  have  his  own, 

When,  after  battles  lost  and  won, 

The  Norman  shall  cross  the  threshold  floor, 

To  woo  the  heir  of  Macarthy  More  : 

When  the  dexter  hand  from  the  clouds  shall  bend, 

And  the  moose  deer*  to  its  home  shall  wend  ; 

When  he  shall  return,  who  was  dead  and  gone, 

Macarthy  More  shall  have  his  own — ' 

• Such  are  the  words  of  Friar  Con.” 

“ The  prediction  of  your  friar,  O’Leary,”  said  the 
general  smiling,  “ like  most  prophecies,  is  sufficiently 
vague  and  indefinite.  It  may  mean  anything  or  noth- 
ing.” 

* The  dexter  arm,  the  crest  of  the  Fitzadelms — the  moose 
deer,  that  of  the  Macarthies. 


410 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ Anything  or  nothing !”  returned  O’Leary  quickly. 
“ Does  battles  lost  and  won  mane  nothing  ? And  the 
retreat  of  Masha-na-glass,  and  the  foray  of  Dooghna- 
go-hoone,  between  the  Fitzadelms  and  the  Macar- 
thies,  about  a prey  of  cattle,  and  divers  other  combats, 
as  will  be  seen  in  any  genealogical  history,  written  in 
the  Phoenician  vulgo  vocato  Irish  : do  they  mane 
nothing  ? And  does  the  Norman  crossing  the  thresh- 
old floor,  to  woo  the  heir  of  Macarthy  More,  mane 
nothing,  gineral,  and  your  honor”  (here  he  lowered 
his  voice  to  a whisper),  “and  your  honor  going  to 
make  your  obeysance  to  the  Bhan  Tierna  of  the 
world  ? And  does. 

i The  dexter  hand  from  the  cloud  shall  bend, 

And  the  moose  deer  to  its  home  shall  wend,? 

mane  nothing  ? when  the  dexter  hand’s  the  device  of 
the  Fitzadelms;  and  is  going  in  lowly  suit,  to  tender 
itself  to  the  Macarthy’ s heir ; and  the  moose  deer,  the 
crest  of  the  Macarthies,  -which  was  found  cut  beauti- 
fully in  stone  among  the  rubbish  at  castle  Macarthy, 
and  set  up  over  the  portal,  by  Lady  Clancare,  when 
she  came  home,  a wandering  deer  herself,  the  cratur ! 
the  wide  world  over?  And  then — ” he  added,  in 

emotion,  “ for  him  who  shall  return,  being ” 

“Yes,  yes,”  interrupted  Fitzwalter,  “that  is  plain; 
but  it  is  by  no  means  so  certain,  because  a Norman 
stranger  visits  the  heiress,  or  representative  of  the 
Macarthy  family,  that  he  is  to  woo  her.  And  if  the 
restoration  of  the  greatness  and  property  of  the  Ma- 
carthies rests  upon  -that  part  of  your  friar’s  prophecy, 
I’m  afraid,  O’Leary,  the  whole  falls  to  the  ground.” 

“ If  she  chooses  it,  plaze  your  honor,  shell  make 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


411 


you  woo  her,  and  win  her,  too,”  said  O’Leary,  with 
an  air  of  mysterious  doggedness. 

“ Indeed !” 

“Troth!  and  deed,  sir.  Sure  she  rules  the  world 
intirely,  sir ; and  has  greatly  quelled  the 4 Crawleys 
since  she  came  into  it.  And  is  like  her  great  ances- 
tor, the  famed  Iilen  Macarthy,  sharp  witted,  a great 
lover  of  learning,  capable  of  any  study,  and  has,  at 
this  present  speaking,  my  Irish  and  Latin  dictionary, 
which  she  walked  down  herself  to  borrow,  the  very 
evening  of  the  day  your  honor  set  off  to  Cork ; which 
was  the  day,  sir,  she  arrived  from  England,  where 
she  had  been  sojourning,  to  the  intire  loss  of  the 
country ; and  the  Crawleys  waxing  pockish  the 
moment  her  back  was  turned ; and  brings  me  home 
this  piece  of  antiquity ; ‘ and  thinks  it  will  plaze  you, 
O’Leary !’  says  she;  here  it  is,  plaze  your  honor. 
With  your  lave,  gineral,  I’ll  peruse  aloud  to  beguile 
the  way,  which  is  bare  and  bleak.” 

“I  would  rather  you  would  explain  to  me,  O’Leary,” 
said  the  general,  alighting  and  throwing  the  bridle 
of  the  horse  over  his  arm ; “ why,  talking  as  you  did, 
so  much  and  so  frequently  of  the  ancient  state  and 
fortunes  of  this  Macarthy  family,  you  should  have 
said  nothing  of  their  present  existence  ; of  this  Lady 
Clancare,  for  instance,  whom  you  merely  mentioned 
as  an  ancient  lady,  absent  from  the  country,  and 
whom  I naturally  supposed  to  be  the  widow  of  the 
late  earl.” 

“ And  isn’t  she  an  ancient  countess,„though  a young 
female,  your  honor  ? Anno,  1568;  estates  regranted 
by  letters  patent,  to  hold  them  of  the  crown  after  the 
English  fashion ; and  sat  in  Parliament  afore  1581 ; 


412 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


and  as  for  not  coshering*  about  her  with  a stranger 
in  the  mountains  (no  stranger  to  the  heart,  if  strange 
to  the  eye),  would  you  ax  one  of  the  Pobble  O’Learys 
to  betray  their  Tanista,  their  Bhan  Tierna  ? and  her 
last  words,  laving  the  country  in  Owny,  the  rabragh’s 
ould  chay,  being— — ” 

“ Owny,  the  rabragh  !”  repeated  the  general,  with 
a little  start. 

“ Yes,  my  lord — sir,  I mane  ; the  last  words  laving 
the  country,  and  the  first  when  she  came  back,  was, 
not  to  be  talking  her  over  with  strangers ; nor,  ’bove 
all,  with  any  of  the  Fitzadelms,  who  were  expected 
over  every  day  them  two  years  : and  when  I told  her 
that  I was  sure  I had  the  Lord  Adelm  houselled 
under  my  roof,  and  described  your  honor  to  her  ver* 
batim  et  literatim , she  swore  me  over  again  that  I 
would  not  sell  her  to  yez.” 

“ Sell  her  ! but  what  was  her  object  in  this  conceal- 
ment ?” 

“ Pride,  sir ; what  else  would  it  be.  The  pride  of 
the  Macarthies,  sir,  the  proudest  race  in  Christendom, 
dead  or  alive,  this  day ; and  didn’t  choose,  the  sowl, 
to  be  overshadowed  by  them  Dunores  and  their 
greatness,  in  her  poor  ould  castle  (14),  without  her 
tiernas,  or  clans,  or  bonagh,  sohoren,  cuddy,  shragh, 
or  mart ; without  her  warder,  or  constable,  or  gal  low. 
glasses,  or  calivers,  or  hand  weapons ; but  only  just 
Ulic  Macshane,  the  cowboy,  and  Sibby,  her  little  bit 
of  a handmaid,  with  only  thirty  pounds  per  annum, 
chief  rents  of  great  estates  on  the  Kerry  side  of 
Clotnottyjoy,  that  are  worth  thousands  to  their  own- 
ers and  that’s  all  coming  to  her  now,  who  by  right 

♦Coshering,  literally,  gossipping. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


413 


is  king  of  the  Coriandi.  Now  to  see  her  rinting  her 
own  castle,  and  going  afoot  to  Mass,  barring  when 
the  mules  isn’t  at  work,  and  has  them  put  to  her 
cabriole,  made  by  ould  Cormack  the  wheelwright. 

| Mules ! Bachal  Essu ! she  that  had  her  Spanish  jen- 
nets, and  her  Hobellers,  and  Asturiones,  and  Arabians, 
sent  over  by  Don  Jacobus  Macarthy  as  a gift  to  the 
| great  Florence  ; foreby  her  steeds  ready  caparisoned 
I afore  the  rack  in  case  of  a sudden  foray,  and  the 
O’Driscols  coming  down  the  mountains  to  make  a 
j prey  of  kine ; and  that  is  the  raison,  plaze  your  honor, 
why  she’d  wish  to  keep  aloof  of  them  English  quali- 
ty. Besides,  she  might  not  like,  being  a lone  lady, 
to  come  in  the  way  of  the  young  Lord  Adelm,  who 
is,  according  to  rumor,  a rake  and  rapparee,  one  in 
whom  there  is  no  stay,  no  sobriety,  likening  his 
; father,  the  Honorable  Gerald.” 

“And  yet,”  said  the  general,  “Lady  Clancare  chose 
to  let  herself  be  taken  prisoner  to  Dunore,  when  a 
word  would  have  saved  her  the  mortification  of 
standing  in  so  humiliating  a position,  before  those 
: persons  she  was  so  anxious  to  avoid.” 

“And  if  she  did,”  said  O’Leary,  with  a significant 
look,  “ I’ll  ingage  she  had  her  reasons  for  that  same ; 
and  did  not  you  mind  that,  secret  and  drifty  as  them 
Crawleys  was,  to  ruin  the  world  round,  and  your 
honor  to  boot,  they  were  all  outwitted  and  circum- 
vented every  step ; and,  mark  my  words,  the  Bhan 
Tierna  was  at  the  bottom  of  all,  overthrowing  their 
complots  and  their  policies.” 

| They  had  now  passed  the  last  fence  of  the  potato 
grounds,  had  got  upon  the  highway,  the  general  had 
mounted  his  horse,  and  was  declining  O’Leary’s  offer 


414 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  accompanying  him  to  Castle  Macarthy,  when  Lord 
Adelm,  followed  by  a groom,  appeared  galloping 
towards  them.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  Gene- 
ral Fitzwalter,  who  rode  up  to  him,  and  took  it  cor- 
dially. O’Leary  stood  with  his  head  uncovered,  and 
with  something  between  amazement  and  consterna- 
tion painted  in  his  looks. 

“ I have  met  with  a great  loss,”  said  Fitzadelm,  as 
they  rode  on  together. 

“ You  bear  losses  with  such  philosophy,”  said  Fitz- 
walter, “ that  it  would  be  throwing  away  sympathy 
to  offer  it  to  you.  But  what  further  trials  has  your 
disinterested  generosity  been  put  to  ?” 

“ I have  lost,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  with  a melancholy 
look,  “ ray  sybils  kerchief.” 

General  Fitzwalter  rode  close  up  to  him,  and  throw- 
ing his  arm  over  Lord  Adelm’ s shoulder,  said : “ And 
what  if  I have  discovered  the  sybil,  who  owns  that  ! 
handkerchief?” 

“ Discovered  !”  said  Lord  Adelm,  almost  springing  j 
from  his  horse,  and  taking  the  bridle  of  the  general’s, 
so  as  to  draw  them  still  closer  together — “ discovered, 
say  you ! how  ? when  ? where  ? what  is  she  ? sybil, 
sylph,  woman,  maid,  widow,  or  wife  ? Speak  I conjure 
you.” 

“A  woman  and  a wife ; almost,  at  least  a wifej”  re- 
plied Fitzwalter,  with  a half-repressed  sigh. 

“Whose  wife?’  demanded  Lord  Fitzadelm,  with 
the  blood  mantling  to  his  cheek. 

“ Mine,”  was  the  abrupt  reply. 

A short  silence  succeeded  to  this  singular  and 
most  unexpected  answer,  till  Lord  Adelm,  recovering 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


415 


from  the  shock  a reply  so  mysterious  was  calculated 
to  give,  at  last  observed  : 

“ Everything  about  you  is  extraordinary.  You 
are  out  of  the  pale  of  every-day  creation.  All  things 
connected  with  you  are  calculated  for  amazement  or 
admiration ; but  that  any  one  you  have  deigned  to — 
to — should  turn  her  eyes  on  me  ! — in  short,  you  trifle 

with  my  folly,  you  play  with  my  credulity — you ” 

“At  the  present  moment,”  said  the  general,  “I 
cannot  satisfy  your  doubts,  or  clear  up  your  perplexi- 
ties. I am  myself  doubtful  and  uncertain, — perplexed 
in  the  extreme.  If  the  owner  of  the  mystic  kerchief 
is  the  person  I suspect  she  is,  or  might  be  still — but 
I demand  your  indulgence,  and  the  suspension  of 
your  curiosity.  To-night  it  may  be  in  my  power  to 
become  more  explicit.  Till  then,  or  till  that  moment 
arrives  when  I can  fully  explain  myself,  confide  in  my 
truth,  rely  on  my  friendship,  and  believe  that  my 
feelings  are  not  more  at  ease  than  your  own.  Where 
can  I see  you  this  evening  ?” 

“ Where  ! ’where  but  at  the  castle  ? My  mother’s 
dinner  card  of  general  invitation  is  now  on  its  way  to 
you.  It  is  with  difficulty  I could  confine  her  to  that; 
not  but  that  I consider  your  delicacy  as  morbid  and 
sickly  upon  this  point.” 

“ It  must  not,  and  it  ought  not  to  be,”  said  the 
general. 

“ It  must  and  #ught.  It’s  folly  to  act  otherwise. 
To  me  it  is  privation,  and  in  you  suspicious.  I will 
call  on  you  in  my  way  home,  and  we  will  return  to 
dinner  together ; or,  rather,  I wish  you  would  accom- 
pany me  now.” 

“ Where  are  you  bound  to  ?” 


416 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


44  To  Glannacrime.  This  morning,  at  breakfast,  I 
thought  I perceived  a little  intelligence  between  my  -4 
mother  and  her  election  agent,  to  keep  me  for  some 
time  out  of  the  scene  of  action;  so  I ordered  my 
horse,  and  came  off  to  canvass  the  4 most  sweet  voices’  J 
of  those  purchaseable  worthies,  in  person.  But  this  \ 
most  extraordinary  intelligence,  mysterious  and  unsa-  j 
tisfactory  as  it  is,  which  you  have  now  communicated 
to  me,  leaves  me  without  thought  or  view  for  any 
other  object,  save  that  which  has  so  long  occupied  | 
my  existence  ; that  which--' — Your  wife  ! Oh  ! you 
jest.  Impossible ; you  never  mentioned,  never  hinted, 
that  you  were  married  before ; and  now  . . . .” 

44  To  tell  the  truth,”  said  Fitzwaiter,  shrugging  his  ■ 
shoulders,  44 1 had  almost  forgotten  it  myself.  It  was  ; 
an  event  in  my  life,  brief  and  fantastic  as  a dream, 
made  up  of  circumstances  as  wild  and  as  discordant ; 
occurring  amidst  scenes,  perilous  and  foreign  to  such  ; 
an  engagement,  amidst  the  crash  of  war,  the  groans 
of  the  dying ; when  the  vow,  half  breathed,  remained 
unratified,  the  benediction,  half  pronounced,  was  un- 
finished ; and  the  ceremony,  all  but  concluded,  was 
broken  off  in  time  to  render  the  forms  which  had 
passed  binding  only  to  faith,  to  honor,  and  to  grati- 
tude. These  ties  all  remain ; and  if  they  are  to  be  ir- 
revocably broken,  ’tis  not  by  me.  This,  you  are  go-  ( j 
ing  to  say,  is  all  enigma;  and  so  it  is.  Yet,  now,  I 
will  be  pressed  no  further.  To-night,  perhaps  . . . 
till  then  farewell.” 

He  spurred  his  horse,  and  in  a moment  was  out  of 
sight.  There  was  in  the  tone,  the  air,  and  the  man- 
ner, more  than  in  his  own  words,  an  imposing  firm- 
ness, and  indisputable  decision  upon  all  occasions, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


417 


when  he  chose  to  he  peremptory,  which  left  persua- 
sion hopeless. 

“ He  is  his  own  destiny  and  mine,”  said  Lord 
Adelrn,  with  a sigh,  as  he  looked  after  him.  “ To  con- 
tend with  him,  or  to  oppose  him,  were  to  struggle 
with  fatality.”  In  this  conviction  there  was  some- 
thing extremely  accordant  to  the  habits  of  mind  and 
morbid  imagination  of  him  who  embraced  it.  Mys- 
tery was  his  element ; and  whatever  was  wild  or  ter- 
rible, dark  or  extraordinary,  whatever  roused  pro- 
found emotion,  or  gave  feeling  to  extraordinary  con- 
jecture, was  calculated  to  engross  and  interest  him ; 
the  commander  of  II  Libradcrr  did  both. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Even  so,  this  happy  creature,  of  herself  is  all  sufficient. 

Wordsworth. 

There  stand — for  you  are  spell-stopp’d. 

Shakspeare. 

It  was  a bright  warm  September  morning  that,  for 
the  first  time  since  his  arrival  in  the  country,  General 
Fitzwalter  entered  the  village  of  Bally  dab.  But  nei- 
ther the  noonday  sun  which  shone  on  its  views,  nor 
the  mountain  breeze  that  blew  over  them,  rich  in  the 
perfumes  of  plants  peculiar  to  the  southern  moun- 
tains of  Ireland,  could  lend  a charm  to  this  ruinous 
retreat  of  indigence  and  misery.  Bally  dab,  the  El 
Dorado  of  O’Leary,  the  once  fair  dependency  of  its 
own  feudal  castle,  an  ancient  borough,  which  had 
formerly  sent  two  members  to  Parliament  by  pre- 
scriptive right  (for  its  charter  was  not  upon  record), 
Ballydab,  once  noted  in  military  and  ecclesiastical 
history,  was  now  a desolate  and  ruinous  village, 
scarcely  more  imposing  or  less  miserable  in  its  ap- 
pearance than  the  deserted  city  of  Kilmallock  in  the 
same  province  (15).  The  remains  of  a wall  which 
once  surrounded  the  town  were  still  visible.  The 
site  of  a Dominican  Abbey  of  Black  Friars,  erected 
in  the  fifteenth  century  by  “ the  sovereign,  brethren 
and  commonalty,”  was  yet  ascertainable;  and  the 


/ 

FLORENCE  MACARTHY.  419 

ruins  of  other  castles  and  monasteries  afforded  shel- 
ter to  many  wretched  families  who  had  built  their 
perishable  huts  against  the  walls  of  edifices  whose 
strength  had  stood  the  shock  of  ages.  Desolate,  im- 
poverished and  neglected,  the  surrounding  land  given 
up  to  jobbers,  it  bore  all  the  signs,  not  only  of  dis- 
tress, but  of  squalid  and  hopeless  pauperism.  Its  in- 
habitants were  deemed  lawless,  they  were,  indeed, 
occasionally  desperate ; no  natural  demand  being 
made  upon  their  native  activity,  their  restlessness 
had  sometimes  degenerated  to  mischief;  and  it  was, 
perhaps,-  as  much  their  misery  that  they  had  few 
wants,  as  they  had  still  fewer  means  of  supplying 
them.  Their  cabins  were,  for  the  most  part,  ruined 
hovels;  and  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  a swampy 
marsh  sent  up  ordinarily  a pestilential  vapor,  though 
now  unusually  dry. 

• Yet,  amidst  these  symptoms  of  general  wretched- 
ness, evidences  of  recent  and  progressive  improve- 
ment were  to  be  seen.  The  mountain  which  shelter- 
ed the  town  was  cultivated  and  green  to  its  summit. 
Several  of  the  hovels  were  newly  whitewashed ; and, 
in  a few  instances,  freshly-plastered  chimneys  emitted 
the  smoke,  which  more  commonly  found  egress  at 
the  door.  In  the  front  of  one  cabin  a poor  man  was 
employed  in  filling  up  a stagnant  pool,  and  a heap 
of  manure  was  removing  from  before  another.  At 
the  door  of  a barn  a number  of  children  were  em- 
ployed in  making  green  rush  matting,  and  at  a little 
| shebeen  house  a piper  sat  upon  a stone  bench  playing 
j a gay  Irish  lilt. 

I From  every  point  of  the  village  the  castle  was 
conspicuous,  standing  on  the  brow  of  a hill  that 


420 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


overhung  it;  and  upon  a precipice  which  imme- 
diately arose  from  a river,  formed  of  many  tributary 
streams,  and  flowing  into  one  of  the  many  bays, 
which,  a mile  further  on,  indented  the  coast.  All 
that  now  remained  of  the  original  edifice  of  Castle 
Macarthy  was  a coarse  square  building,  rude,  inele- 
gant, and  wholly  destitute  of  the  architectural  orna- 
ment which  distinguished  the  beautiful  and  perfect 
castle  of  Dunore,  a building  more  modern  by  about 
a century.  The  ballium,  the  barbican,  the  parapets, 
the  embrasures  and  crenelles,  described  by  O’Leary,  ' 
and  existing  only  in  the  memory  of  what  he  read,  or 
the  imagination  cf  what  he  Avished,  were  vainly 
sought  for  in  the  chapter  of  realities.  Ills  castle  j 
was  literally  “ a castle  in  the  air.” 

As  General  Fitz waiter  approached  more  closely, 
and  ascended  the  steep  and  rutted  lane,  or  ap- 
proach, he  perceived  a fosse  partly  filled  up,  and  a 
flagged  causeway  crossing  it.  The  stone  pillars 
of  the  gates  still  remained ; and  the  castle  bawn,  the 
demesne  of  feudal  recreation,  lay  to  the  left,  and  was 
still  fenced  round  with  a low7  Avail  of  mud  and  bram- 
bles. It  was  now,  however,  planted  Avith  potatoes, 
rich  in  their  bright  silver  and  orange  flowers.  The 
mountain  rose  almost  perpendicularly  above  the  cas- 
tle ; and  to  the  left,  a romantic  glen,  Avild,  irregular, 
and  rocky,  afforded  a passage  to  the  many  mountain 
brooks  Avhich  swelled  the  greater  streams  and  fell 
into  the  sea.  Two  or  three  irregular  sashed  win- 
dows appeared  scattered  over  the  front  of  the  castle; 
but  it  was  principally  lighted  by  loophole  casements. 

The  hall-door,  of  black  bog  oak,  lay  open,  and  the 
crest  of  the  Macarthies,  alluded  to  by  O’Leary,  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


421 


moose  deer,  cut  in  stone,  was  raised  above  it,  with 
the  date  of  1500.  A knocker  would  have  been 
vainly  sought  for;  nor  was  any  person  visible,  ex- 
cept two  women,  who  appeared  at  a distance,  weed- 
ing a patch  of  ground  at  the  extremity  of  the  potato 
ridges ; while  a venerable  greyhound,  which  lay  bask- 
ing in  the  sun  before  the  door,  the  sole  guardian  of 
these  ruined  towers,  only  growled  at  the  stranger’s 
approach,  half  raised  himself,  and  then  lay  down 
again  to  sleep. 

General  Fitzwalter  entered  the  stone-roofed  hall; 
and,  in  the  hope  that  some  one  might  accidentally 
appear,  occupied  himself  in  examining  the  singular 
ornaments  with  which  it  was  decorated.  A wolf’s 
head,  the  last  caught  in  Ireland,  (as  was  inscribed  on 
a brass  plate,  bearing  date  1710,)  hung  from  the  cen- 
tre of  the  ceiling.  Beneath  it,  on  an  old  stone  table, 
the  enormous  fossil  horns  of  a moose  deer  were  ex- 
tended ; a few  old  pictures  were  dropping  from  their 
frames ; and,  on  either  side  of  the  hall,  two  narrow 
arched  ways  led  to  dark,  damp  stone  passages.  He 
was  at  last  tempted  to  proceed  through  that  on  the 
left,  guided  by  the  sound  of  a voice,  which  had  sud- 
denly raised  a lilt,  and  as  suddenly  stopped  it,  when 
some  one  ran  forcibly  against  him,  hastily  drawing 
back  and  exclaiming,  “ Christ  save  us,  Amen !” 

The  general  followed  the  person  whose  surprise  or 
fears  had  extorted  this  ejaculation,  and  found  himself 
at  the,  door  of  an  old,  spacious,  smoky  kitchen.  In 
removing  the  alarm  he  had  just  awakened,  he  in- 
creased the  surprise  of  the  intimidated  person.  It 
was  a young  woman,  who  courtesied  and  blushed, 
with  something  like  recognition  in  her  looks;  and 


422 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


putting  back  her  locks  beneath  her  round-eared  cap, 
she  remained  silent  and  confused.  On  the  inquiry 
whether  Lady  Clancare  was  at  home,  she  court esied 
still  lower,  and  said,  “ Is  it  my  lady,  sir  ? Oh  yes,  to 
be  sure  she  is,  your  honor — I ax  your  pardon.  This 
way,  if  you  plaze,  sir.  Have  a care  ; there  is  a little 
stooleen  in  your  way.  I’ll  but  step  afore  your  honor.” 
Still  engaged  in  arranging  her  dress,  she  led  the  way 
to  the  stone  passage,  on  the  other  side  the  hall,  and 
passing  under  a Gothic  arched  way,  she  threw  open  a 
door  at  the  further  extremity  of  the  passage,  and 
ushered  the  visitor  into  a low-roofed  but  spacious 
room.  His  conductress  having  wiped  a large  arm- 
chair, and  pulled  it  near  the  dying  embers  of  a turf 
fire,  which  she  replenished  from  a huge  turf-box  that 
stood  near  the  hearth,  she  was  retiring,  when  he 
called  her  back,  and  giving  her  his  card,  desired  her 
to  carry  it,  with  his  respectful  compliments,  to  the 
Countess  of  Clancare.  The  girl  looked  at  the  card, 
and  then  at  him,  and  a smile  just  visible  stole  over 
her  feat  ures  as  she  retired. 

The  room  into  which  he  had  been  shown  occupied 
his  attention  during*  the  moment  of  waiting.  It  was 
of  dimensions  disproportionate  to  its  height ; and 
from  its  dark  and  irregular  figure,  and  the  immense 
width  of  the  wall  (marked  by  the  deep  recess  of  its 
only  window),  it  appeared  to  occupy  one  of  the 
towers  which  flanked  the  castle  towards  the  precipi- 
tous glen ; it  was  not,  therefore,  perceptible  from  the 
front. 

The  walls,  neither  wainscotted  nor  papered,  were 
partially  covered  with  faded  tapestry,  the  figures  of 
which  were  antique  and  grotesque.  Above  the  ample 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


423 


and  ungrated  hearth,  a lofty,  cumbrous,  but  handsome 
chimney-piece  of  gray  marble,  the  produce  of  the  ad- 
joining quarries,  arose  nearly  half-way  to  the  ceiling. 
For  two  feet  above  the  floor,  it  was  incrusted  with 
brick,  and  seemed  to  have  been  but  lately  discovered. 
On  its  entablature  was  carved  the  following  inscrip- 
tion : Donagii  Macarthy  Comes  de  Clancare  me  fecit, 
1656.  The  floor  was  of  beaten  earth,  mixed  with 
freestone  sand,  and  was  covered  near  the  fireplace 
with  some  new  rush  matting ; an  oak  table,  a tattered 
Indian  screen,  a high  ponderous  Japan  chest,  and  a 
few  long-backed,  curiously  carved  oak  chairs,  com- 
posed the  whole  furniture  of  this  antique  and  gloomy 
apartment;  a spinning  wheel  stood  near  the  hearth, 
and  a Spanish  guitar,  and  a parasol,  oddly  contrasted 
to  it,  lay  on  the  table.  The  recess  window  was  evi- 
dently devoted  to  the  purposes  of  a study.  The  view 
it  commanded  was  enchanting,  for  it  hung  immedi- 
ately over  a glen  ; and  a river,  seen  sparkling  through 
the  rich  underwood,  brawled  beneath,  and  rushed 
through  a cleft  in  the  rocks  towards  the  distant  bay. 

The  floor  of  this  recess  was  covered  with  a piece 
of  old,  but  once  rich,  Turkey  carpet : the  table,  which 
nearly  occupied  it,  was  heaped  with  books  and  manu- 
scripts ; the  latter,  however,  not  bearing  the  stamp 
of  antiquity,  but  fresh  written ; and  the  humid  pen 
was  evidently  but  just  laid  down.  Two  books  stood 
open,  marked  with  a pencil  and  a flower.  The  one 
was  Hanmer’s  Chronicle,  the  other  Campion’s  His- 
tory of  Ireland.  An  Irish  and  Latin  Dictionary,  and 
an  odd  volume  of  Lopez  deVega,  Bum’s  Poems,  and 
a small  edition  of  Shakspeare,  with  an  antique  missal, 
bound  in  crimson  velvet,  bearing  the  arms  and 


424 


FLORENCE  MACAItTHY. 


coronet  of  the  Clancares,  formed  the  whole  of  this 
little  collection.  Some  flowers,  seemingly  just 
gathered,  stood  in  a handsome  China  vase,  upon  the 
table  ; and  an  embroidered  work-bag,  such  as  are 
worked  in  foreign  convents,  with  a silver  cross  and 
rosary,  hung  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  com- 
pleted the  paraphernalia  of  this  little  recess,  which 
might  have  served  equally  for  the  retreat  of  the  sage 
or  the  saint,  or  as  a reposoir  for  the  fantastic  taste  of 
a petite  maitresse . The  flowers  and  the  work-bag 
were  at  once  assignable  to  the  timid,  but  evidently 
affected  Lady  Clancare— for  Lord  Adelm’s  epithet 
of  the  petite  evaporee  seemed  not  ill-placed.  The 
rosary  and  the  cross,  and  the  missal,  were  as  mark- 
edly appropriate  to  the  Spanish  nun,  Florence  Mac- 
arthy,  who  had  been  so  lately  an  inmate  at  the  castle. 

General  Fitzwalter  had  learned,  by  experience,  to 
distrust  the  extravagant  exaggerations  of  O Leary, 
when  the  family  of  his  hereditary  Tiernas  was  con- 
cerned.  He  had  no  doubt  that  the  character  of  Lady 
Clancare  had  been  confounded,  in  his  wandering  ima- 
gination, with  that  of  the  celebrated  Illen  Macarthy, 
of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  days ; and  that  the  learning  and 
potency  attached  to  this  female  Tanaist  in  his  descrip- 
tions had  no  more  certain  existence  than  the  bal- 
i limns,  crenelles,  and  barbican,  which  he  had  given  to 
her  dilapidated  castle.  Even  the  exertions  she  had 
made  to  liberate  an  oppressed  man,  through  her  ap- 
plication to  Judge  Aubrey,  while  it  evinced  great 
goodness  of  heart,  was  deemed  sufficient  to  explain 
the  popularity  she  so  evidently  enjoyed  among  a peo- 
ple equally  alive  to  kindness  and  neglect. 

But  whatever  might  be  the  character  of  this  fair 


FLORENCE  MACARTHt. 


425 


recluse,  her  tastes,  like  her  appearance,  were  mani- 
festly delicate  and  feminine ; and  there  was  some- 
thing peculiarly  touching,  and  even  pitiable,  in  the  in- 
digence betrayed  in  this  ruinous  asylum,  of  one  so 
young,  so  nobly  born,  so  destitute,  and  so  unprotected. 
Her  assumption  of  a title  she  had  no  means  of  sup- 
porting, her  retirement  from  the  world  to  a solitude 
so  dreary,  showed  at  least  the  pride  of  birth ; and 
pride,  from  whatever  source  it  springs,  when  at  variance 
with  poverty,  forms  one  of  the  most  painful  contests 
of  feeling  to  which  humanity  is  subject. 

As  these  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  the 
mind  of  Fitzwalter,  he  almost  unconsciously  took 
down  an  antique  s^vord,  which  hung  against  the  wall; 
and  mused,  as  he  examined  its  curious  structure,  on 
the  untowardness  of  a fate  in  which  he  found  some 
parallel  to  his  own. 

“ Man,”  he  involuntarily  exclaimed,  brandishing  the 
weapon,  and  clasping  it  with  a warrior’s  grasp — 
“ man,  with  such  an  instrument  as  this,  can  always 
cut  his  way  to  fortune  or  to  death ; and,  rushing  for- 
ward to  meet  the  evils  of  his  destiny,  can,  by  oppos- 
ing, end  them ; but  woman,  hapless  woman  ! what  is 
her  resource  when  fortune  deserts,  when  adversity 
assails  her  ? Desolate  and  unguarded,  with  scarce 
one  path  left  open  to  her  exertions,  scarce  one  stay 
left  to  her  weakness,  endangered  even  by  her  perfec- 
tions, risked  and  enfeebled  by  all  that  makes  the  de- 
licious excellence  of  her  nature,— woman— — 

The  door  opened,  and  she,  whose  destiny  had  pro- 
bably given  birth  to  this  apostrophe,  interrupted  its 
conclusion.  There  was  a sort  of  half  start,  a sudden 
pause  in  the  approach  of  Lady  Claneare  (as  if  the 


426 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


visit  and  the  visitor  were  equally  unexpected),  which 
communicated  something  of  its  brief  confusion  to  her 
guest.  He  bowed,  then  stood  for  a moment,  slightly 
embarrassed ; and,  still  armed  with  the  antique  sword 
of  Macarthy-More,  he  not  inaptly  realized  to  the  eyes 
of  his  fair  descendant  the  picture  left  on  historic 
record  of  that  magnificent  chieftain. 

Lady  Clancare  was  the  first  to  recover  herself';  and, 
slightly  courtesying,  addressed  her  guest  by  name, 
motioned  him  to  a chair,  and  advanced,  with  a light, 
quick  step,  to  the  centre  of  the  room.  With  a disen- 
gaged air  she  gradually  disencumbered  herself  of  a ^ 
deep  straw  bonnet,  a gray  cloak,  gloves  incrusted 
with  earth,  and  a black  apron  full  of  mountain  ash 
berries,  all  of  which  articles  were  deliberately  laid 
upon  the  table.  Lady  Clancare,  as  she  now  stood, 
was  the  very  personification  of  health,  in  all  its  force 
and  freshness,  vigor  and  elasticity.  The  crimson  of 
haste  and  exercise  glowed  in  her  cheek ; and  there  J 
was  a life  palpitating  through  the  whole  frame,  throb- 
bing in  every  pulse,  and  vibrating  in  every  fibre,  that 
was  visible  to  the  observer’s  eye.  But  whether  she 
Yv  as  animated  or  agitated,  breathless  from  hurry  or 
from  emotion,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  ascer- 
tain. Her  countenance  had  lost  nothing  of  its  pecu- 
liar modesty;  but  from  her  half-closed  eyes  one  glance 
met  his,  that,  to  him  at  least,  seemed  charged  with 
triumph, — a sort  of  smiling  malicious  triumph ; the 
triumph  of  conscious  success,  of  conscious  superiority, 
and  infelt  powder ; such  a look  as  he  had  seen  her 
wear  when,  in  carrying  off  Lady  Dunore,  she  had 
bowed  her  laughing,  and  almost  insolent,  salutation 
to  the  discomfited  Crawleys. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


427 


This  look,  whether  real  or  fancied,  was,  however, 
transient  as  lightning ; and  now,  disencumbered  of 
her  coarse  out-of-door  garments,  she  turned  round  a 
face  dimpled  with  a thousand  smiles ; and,  with  the 
ease  of  a woman  of  the  world,  but  the  ?iaivete  of  one 
beyond  its  forms  and  formalities,  she  apologized  for 
having  so  long  detained  him.  “ This  is,”  she  added, 
pointing  again  to  a chair,  and  throwing  herself  into 
an  immense  old-fashioned  fauteuil,  this  is  nay  farming 
season  and  farming  hour.  We  are  digging  our  pota- 
toes to-day  ; for  you  must  know,  General  Fitz waiter, 
the  potato  vintage  is  to  us  poor  Irish  of  as  great  mo- 
ment and  interest,  though  not  quite  so  susceptible  of 
picturesque  description,  as  the  gathering  of  the  rich 
grapes  in  the  luxuriant  vineyards  of  the  Loire  and  the 
Garonne.  I always  preside  on  these  occasions  my- 
self,” she  added,  carelessly  untying  a silk  handker- 
chief which  encircled  her  neck ; “ for  I dare  say  you 
will  agree  with  me,  that  no  work  goes  on  so  lightly 
as  that  which  is  shared  by  the  master.” 

To  this  proposition  General  Fitzwalter  returned  no 
answer.  He  had  mechanically  taken  the  chair  as- 
signed him,  and  sat  with  his  right  arm  thrown  over 
its  back,  and  his  left  leaning  on  the  old  sword.  His 
eyes  were  rivetted  on  Lady  Clancare,  with  that  eager, 
animated,  penetrating  gaze  natural  to  them  wdien  he 
sought  to  discover  or  dive  at  once  into  the  secret  of 
a character  that  appeared  to  elude  observation. 
Hers,  however,  as  it  now  equivocally  appeared 
through  her  easy,  animated,  disengaged  manners  (so 
opposed  to  her  “ outward  seeming”  at  the  castle  of 
Dunore),  wTas  all  enigma.  Her  childish  shyness,  her 
timid  and  affected  carriage,  which  had  induced  Lord 


428  FLORENCE  MCCARTHY. 

Adelm  to  give  her  the  epithet  of  a minaucliere , had 
disappeared.  There  was  now  something  of  the  sybil 
in  her  looks ; and  her  incomprehensible  change  of 
manner  assimilated  with  the  present  character  of  her 
person  and  character.  Meantime  the  silence  of  her 
guest,  though  marked  and  singular,  seemed  not  to 
displease  her;  and  she  sat  demurely  patting  and 
caressing  the  old  greyhound  that  had  followed  her 
into  the  room,  as  if  she  awaited  an  explanation  of  the 
visit,  which  appeared  wholly  unexpected,  though  it 
was  natural  to  suppose  was  not  without  cause  or  ex- 
cuse. At  last,  as  if  to  relieve  the  awkwardness  of  the 
pause,  she  stretched  forth  a very  pretty  little  hand, 
and  asked,  smilingly — 

“ Shall  I take  that  sword  from  you?  'tis  a cumbrous 
article.”  He  laid  the  sword  upon  the  table,  and  she 
drew  it  towards  her.  “ Have  you  examined  this  an- 
tique weapon,  General  Fitzwalter  ? I am  told  it  was 
found  in  a bog  in  1748.  It  was  sent  to  me  the  other 
day  by  a neighboring  farmer,  into  whose  hands  it  fell 
accidentally : for  he  was  pleased,  poor  man,  to  con- 
sider me  as  the  lady  of  the  manor.  What  makes 
these  brazen  swords  a valuable  relic  to  the  Irish  an- 
tiquarian is,  that  they  serve  to  corroborate  the  opinion 
that  the  Phoenicians  colonized  this  country;  since 
they  insist  that  the  sword-blades  found  upon  the  field 
of  Cannae  were  of  the  same  metal  and  construction. 
Consequently,  you  know,  General  Fitzwalter,  some- 
thing more  than  a mere  presumption  arises  that  Ire- 
land had  her  arts  and  letters  from  the  country  of  Cad- 
mus, as  all  her  traditions  affirm,  in  spite  of  all  Dr.  Led- 
wich  has  said  to  the  contrary.” 

All  this  was  uttered  with  a sort  of  mock  emphasis, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


429 


that  left  it  very  doubtful  whether  she  believed  a word 
she  spoke,  or  whether  it  was  mere  ironical  badinage ; 
it  served  only  to  involve  General  Fitzwalter  in  deeper 
perplexity. 

• “ Now,  what  is  ygur  opinion  ?”  she  added  with  em- 
phatic gravity.  “ Do  you  really  think  we  are  Tyrians 
by  descent  ?”  Then  laughing  and  assuming  her  gay 
tone,  she  added,  “ O ! I see  you  are  no  antiquarian, 
though  you  are  the  guest  of  my  friend  O’Leary. 
W ell,  then,  neither  am  I ; and  to  confess  the  truth, 
the  present  state  of  this  poor  country  interests  me 
more  than  its  ancient  greatness,  real  or  fabled ; and 
I should  rather  see  my  neighbors  of  Ballydab  succeed 
in  reclaiming  and  cultivating  that  mountain,  to  the 
right  of  the  casement  (my  dear  Clotnottyjoy),  or  im- 
prove in  the  rush  and  straw  work  I am  endeavoring 
to  teach  their  idle,  helpless,  haked  children,  than  es- 
tablish beyond  all  controversy  tjiat  the  Macarthies 
are  descended  from  the  Tyrian  Hercules,  or  that  Ire- 
land was  the  seat  of  arts  and  letters,  when  the  rest 
of  the  world  was,  according  to  my  family  genealogist, 
the  sage  O’Leary,  buried  in  utter  darkness.  Do  you 
know — apropos  to  ancient  greatness,”  she  added, 
with  a quick  transition  of  voice,  “ that  as  I entered 
this  room,  there  was  something  in  your  appearance, 
as  you  stood  brandishing  that  antique  weapon,  that 
reminded  me  of  a picture  I have  seen  of  our  family 
hero,  Florence  Macarthy ; though  to  Miss  Crawley’s 
deep-read  mind,  and  ready  literary  associations,  I 
dare  say  you  would  have  recalled  the  image  of  Achil- 
les, in  the  court  of  Lycomedes. 

‘ In  questa  mano, 

Lampeggi  il  ferro.  Ah  recomincio  adesso, 


430 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


A ravissar  me  stes.so,  ah  ! forso  a fronte, 

A mille  squadre,  e mille — !’  ” 

“ And  if  I were,”  said  General  Fitzwalter,  inter- 
rupting her  impulsively,  and  borne  away  by  the  ani- 
mation with  which  she  had  repeated  these  lines,  giv- 
ing an  almost  dramatic  effect;  “ and  if  I were  a fronte , 
a mille  squadre , e mille , my  position,  perhaps,  would 
be  less  hazardous  than  that  I at  present  occupy.” 

“ It  would  at  least  be  more  in  your  way,”  she  re- 
plied, significantly. 

“ How  do  you  know  that  ?”  he  asked  eagerly. 

“ Oh  ! I kno  w nothing.  I merely  guess  it.  I have 
a true  woman’s  mind  : no  judgment,  no  reflection,  no 
knowledge ; but  some  intelligence,  and  a rapidity  of 
perception,  that  goes  before  all  experience,  and  lights 
upon  facts  by  accident,  which  it  would  take  an  age 
for  philosophy  to  puzzle  at.”  | 

“ Then,  perhaps,”  he  returned,  “ you  are  already 
intuitively  aware  of  the  cause  of  this  intrusion  upon 
proscribed  ground,  where  the  soles  of  unblessed  feet 
are  not,  I understand,  permitted  to  press.” 

“ Oh ! to  be  sure  I am.  The  cause  is — that  of 
most  of  the  untoward  things  that  men  do  (heroes,  as 
well  as  others),  a woman.” 

“ That , my  visit  to  your  ladyship  sufficiently  indi- 
cates. But  the  purport  of  this  visit  to  a woman, 
whose  dwelling  is  forbidden  to  a stranger’s  steps — to 
all  male  intrusions  I understand— — ” 

“ That,  I confess,”  returned  Lady  Clancare,  laugh- 
ing, “ surpasses  my  oracular  divinations.  I trust, 
however,  it  is  sufficient  to  sanction  the  infringement 
of  one  of  the  most  strictly  observed  laws  in  the  sta- 
tute-book of— Ballydab.  But  whatever  be  the  pur- 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


431 


port  of  your  visit,  I honestly  confess  that  you  owe 
your  admission  to  the  simplicity  of  my  maid — a little 
Tipperary  nymph,  and  a stranger,  whom  I have  just 
brought  to  this  country ; so  that  I have  not  yet  had 
time  to  initiate  her  into  all  the  mysteries  of  her  voca- 
tion. My  seclusion,”  she  added  earnestly,  is  no  “ af- 
fectation, no  lure  to  quicken  curiosity,  or  attract  at- 
tention. It  is  indispensable  that  I should  live  much 
alone;  my  avocations  require  it,  my  peculiar  situ- 
ation demands  it,  my  circumstances  enforce  it.  You, 
however,  have  taken  me  by  surprise  : may  I,  there- 
fore, beg  to  know  the  purport  of  the  visit  so  unex- 
pected ?” 

“ The  purport,  madam,”  said  General  Fitzwalter, 
“ of  this  visit,  which  certainly  demands  an  apology 
for  such  unwarranted  intrusion,  is  to  return  this 
handkerchief  to  its  right  owner.” 

He  arose  as  he  spoke,  and  drawing  from  his  breast 
the  handkerchief,  dropped  by  Lord  Fitzadelm,  pre- 
sented it  to  Lady  Clancare.  Her  complexion,  which 
had  varied  to  hues  of  every  shade  of  red  as  she  spoke, 
nowr  faded  to  an  unearthly  paleness.  The  ardent 
eyes  of  General  Fitzw^alter  pursued  its  flight,  and 
contributed,  perhaps,  by  the  intensity  of  their  gaze, 
to  recall  it  to  the  surface  it  had  deserted, 

“ And  to  whom,  then,”  she  asked  in  a low  and  un- 
steady voice,  “ do  you  suppose  this  handkerchief  be- 
longs ?” 

“•I  did,”  he  replied,  emphatically,  “ suppose  this 
morning,  from  particular  circumstances,  that  it  might 
belong  to  a lady  of  the  name  of  Florence  Macarthy, 
a kinswoman  of  your  ladyship,  a refugee  nun  from 
Spanish  America,  and  now,  as  I have  just  accidentally 


432 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


learned,  a resident  in  a convent  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Holycross.  Her  father  served  for  a short  time  in 
the  guerilla  war  of  South  America : his  death,  which 
was  the  purchase  of  my  life,  imposed  on  me  an  obli- 
gation I would  have  requited  to  his  daughter; 
but — ” he  paused  in  some  confusion,  then  rapidly 
added — “ Of  the  early  part  of  this  gallant  man’s  story 
I know  little.  He  had  assumed  a Caraquian  name  ; 
having  in  horror  and  disgust  abandoned  the  royal  and 
persecuting  army.  It  was  from  his  death-words  only 
that  I gathered  his  connection  with  the  illustrious 
house* of  Macarthy  in  this  country.  That  he  was 
high-spirited  and  brave,  I collected  from  my  own  ob- 
servation ; that  he  was  unfortunate,  and  in  exile,  it 
was  natural  to  suppose ; for  he  was  an  Irishman,  and 
a Catholic.” 

Lady  Clancare  had  listened  to  this  detail  with  an 
adverted  head ; she  now  turned  round,  with  the  deep 
inspiration  of  one  who  suddenly  recovers  from  a 
shock,  in  which  the  mind  and  body  had  alike  partici- 
pated. She  opened  the  handkerchief,  ran  her  eyes 
rapidly  over  it,  and  observed,  carelessly — “ There  is 
mo  doubt  this  little  scarf  must  be  Florence  Macarthy’s ; 
here  is  the  cross,  the  holy  device  of  these  fanciful 
saints,  who,  you  see,  general,  must  have  their  petti- 
nesses in  piety,  and  are  women  even  to  the  last.  I 
remember  it  well.  I have  seen  it  thrown  over  her 
shouldefs  an  hundred  times  in  our  stolen  twilight 
walks ; for  these  cloistered  creatures  are  coy,  even  to 
the  very  air,  ‘the  chartered  libertine,’  wdiicli  blows  on 
all  alike,  the  sinner  or  the  saint.  Yet,  to  my  know- 
ledge, my  cousin  has  not  been  in  this  part  of  the 
country  since  she  took  up  her  residence  with  Our 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


433 


Lady  of  the  Annunciation.  Besides,  she  is  so  sober, 
steadfast,  and  demure,  that  she  would  scarcely  step 
out  of  her  way  to  woo  a soul  to  heaven,  much  less  to 
fling  the  handkerchief.  ..  Come,  confess ; have  you, 
then,  been  besieging  her  convent,  opposing  your  mili- 
tary tactics  to  the  wdiole  army  of  martyrs ; and  has 
she  sent  you  this  appropriate  device,  as  a flag  of  de- 
fiance or  of  truce,  till  further  parley ; and  am  I to  be 
the  herald,  the  negotiator?” 

The  sudden  transition  of  Lady  Clancare’s  look,  the 
playful  ease  which  succeeded  to  her  evident  but  tran- 
sient consternation,  the  rapidity  of  her  utterance,  and 
the  directness  of  her  question,  confounded  General 
Fitzwalter.  A new-born  surmise,  which  for  a mo- 
ment had  arisen  out  of  her  confusion,  was  stifled  in 
its  birth ; and  his  suspicions  as  to  the  mysterious  and 
invisible  mistress  of  Lord  Adelm  w^ere  lost,  or  rather 
no  longer  remembered,  as  he  listened  to  a rallying 
pleasantry  which  he  was  wholly  unprepared  to  an- 
swer ; and  he  unconsciously  took  up  the  handkerchief 
which  Lady  Clancare  had  thrown  on  the  table. 

“ I have  only  this  morning  learned,”  he  replied, 
“ that  Miss  Macarthy  was  in  this  country  ; nor  do  I 
hold  myself  at  liberty  to  reveal  more  of  the  strange 
circumstances  connected  with  this  handkerchief,  which 
your  ladyship  insists  to  have  been  hers,  than  that  it 
came  by  romantic  and  singular  means  into  the  hands 
of  a person  w7ho  prized  it  much,  who  knows  that  it  is 
now  in  mine ; and  that  we  are  both,  though  from  differ- 
ent motives,  interested  in  discovering  the  real  owner.” 
“I  think  the  initials  sufficiently  indicate,”  said  Lady 
Clancare,  gravely,  “ that  it  is,  or  has  been,  the  pro- 
perty of  Florence  Macarthy ; but,  after  ail,  the  fact 


434 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


may  be  that  she  has  bestowed  it  upon  some  young 
novice,  or  convent  boarder ; some  fondled  little  friend 
de  par  Peglise . If  the  handkerchief,  therefore,  has 
been  thrown  at  you,  General  Fitzwalter,  as  you  loi- 
tered in  some  country  town,  or  reproachfully  sent  to 
you  with  the  pretty  device  of 
‘ When  this  you  see, 

Remember  me, 

Though  far  asunder  we  may  be  ; 
or  if  you  yourself  took  it  (the  owner  nothing  loath), 
to  wipe  away  tears  worth  an  Hebe’s  smiles,  and  now 
wish  to  return  it,  with  a heart  wrapped  up  in  it,  no 

longer  of  any  use  to  the  present  owner ; or  if  you ■” 

“ To  spare  your  ladyship  any  further  conjectures,” 
said  General  Fitzwalter,  with  a countenance  rather 
expressive  of  annoyance,  “ I must  repeat  to  you,  the 
handkerchief  is  not  mine,  was  neither  sent  to,  nor  in- 
tended for  me;  and  the  object  of  this  intrusion  goes 
no  further  than  to  learn  from  your  ladyship  if — that 
is,  where,  or  how — — ” He  paused  and  colored. 
The  eyes  of  Lady  Clancare  now  archly  fixed  on  his, 
and  again  confounded  him.  He  threw  himself  back 
into  his  chair,  and  petulantly,  but  with  the  naivetz  of 
one  whose  feelings  goaded  him  beyond  all  power  of 
disguise,  added,  “ The  fact  is,  madam,  I scarcely  re- 
member what  was  the  object  of  my  visit.” 

“ Pray,  do  not  hurry  yourself,”  said  Lady  Clancare, 
resuming  her  serious  and  demure  look.  “ I will  await 
your  leisure,  General  Fitzwalter.  It  is  now  sufficient 
for  me  to  know  that  you  were  the  friend  of  the  gal- 
lant Colonel  Macarthy,  that  you  are  interested  for 
his  daughter.  You  may,  therefore,  of  course,  com- 
mand me.  Her  interests,  her  happiness,  are  mine. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


435 


And  I would  do  much  to  effect  the  happiness  of 
Florence  Mac ar thy : I have  done  much — too  much, 
perhaps ; but  hitherto  I have  failed,  wholly  failed.1’ 

She  spoke  with  a voice  of  great  emphasis,  a coun- 
tenance of  great  emotion,  indicating  a capability  of 
powerful  and  passionate  feelings  ; then  hemmed 
away  a sigh,  drew  forward  her  spinning  wheel,  and 
gave  up  her  attention  very  strenuously  to  arranging 
the  cobweb  thread  upon  its  reel : then  placing  her 
little  foot  upon  the  pedal,  and  turning  the  wheel 
rapidly  round,  she  gave  one  sly  demure  look  at 
General  Fitz waiter,  and  awaited  in  patient  expecta- 
tion the  narration  which  she  anticipated,  but  which 
he  was  less  than  ever  enabled  to  make.  The  quick 
motion  of  the  prettiest  foot  he  had  ever  seen,  care- 
lessly, but  inevitably , displayed,  the  delicate  fingers 
which  twisted  and  drew  out  the  finespun  thread  with 
fairy  nimbleness,  the  occasional  throwing  back  of  her 
dark  divided  hair,  and  the  changing  hues  of  a com- 
plexion which  bore  testimony  to  the  consciousness 
of  being  gazed  at,  rendered  even  her  silence  eloquent, 
and  combined  to  form  a picture,  new,  and,  therefore, 
fascinating  to  her  sole  observer.  His  modes  of  exist- 
ence had  indeed  led  him  but  rarely  to  those  walks 
of  society,  in  which  woman  appears  with  all  the 
superadded  attraction  of  mind,  talent  and  the  graces. 

He  now  leaned  on  his  arm,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
her  figure,  silent,  intent,  and  yielding  to  the  fascina- 
tion of  an  influence,  of  which,  at  the  moment,  he  was 
scarcely  conscious.  He  saw  before  him  a woman  be- 
traying her  vocation  to  feel  and  to  please,  in  every 
fibre,  lineament,  feature,  and  motion ; he  beheld  her 
distinguished  by  spirit,  feeling,  softness,  and  gaiety ; 


436 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


and  by  that  talent,  so  pardonable  even  in  a woman — * 
the  talent  of  amusing,  by  the  charm  of  endless  variety. 
The  whole  was  guarded  by  a modesty  which  even 
licentiousness  dared  not  violate ; and  it  was  set  off 
by  an  occasional  shyness,  the  lingering  habit  of  a 
seclusion  which  may  be  sometimes  dispelled,  but 
never  is  totally  overpowered. 

Ail  this  he  saw,  and  saw  nought  beside.  Lord 
Adelm,  the  handkerchief,  Miss  Macarthy,  the  purport 
and  object  of  his  visit,  were  alike  forgotten;  even 
O’Leary’s  prophecy  and  assurance  of  the  potency  of 
his  liege  lady  were  no  longer  remembered.  There 
was  now  but  one  object  in  creation  for  him,  and  that 
was  the  Bhan  Tierna. 

Meantime  the  wheel  went  merrily  round ; many  a 
circling  thread  was  spun  off’,  many  an  impulse  given 
to  the  twirling  reel,  and  its  monotonous  hum  was 
alone  interrupted  by  Lady  Clancare’s  carelessly  ad- 
verting to  the  primitiveness  of  her  occupation,  prob- 
ably for  the  purpose  of  breaking  an  awkward  silence. 

a This  is  a rude,  rustic  work,”  she  observed,  “ for 
ladies’  fingers ; but  our  grandmothers  of  the  highest 
rank  in  Ireland  were  all  spinners.  This  wheel  be- 
longed to  the  last  Lady  Clancare,  who  had  the  blood 
royal  of  Ireland  in  her  veins.  My  grandfather  pre- 
served it  for  me,  and  he  had  little  else  to  bequeath 
me.  It  has  already  obtained  me  some  celebrity.  I 
am  reckoned  an  excellent  spinner;  and  in  fact  I like 
it  beyond  all  other  work.  I like  its  humming  noise, 
which  disturbs  the  dreary  tranquillity  of  the  long 
winter  evenings  which  I pass  here  alone  in  my  4 Val 
chiusa .’  It  relieves  my  worn-out  eyes  from  the  daz- 
zle of  the  paper,  on  which  necessity  has  urged  me  to 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


437 


trace  so  much  nonsense,  in  order  that  I may  live,  and 
that  others  may  laugh;  for  possibly  you  have  heard, 
General  Fitz waiter,  that  I am,  by  divine  indignation, 
a — -sort  of  an  author,  un  maniere  cFesjyrit,  and  it  is 
quite  true.  With  Ireland  in  my  heart,  and  epitomiz- 
ing something  of  her  humor  and  her  sufferings  and 
my  own  character  and  story,  I do  trade  upon  the 
materials  she  furnishes  me ; and,  turning  my  patriot- 
ism into  pounds,  shillings  and  pence,  endeavor,  at 
the  same  moment,  to  serve  her,  and  support  myself. 
Meantime  my  wheel,  like  my  brain,  runs  round.  I 
spin  my  story  and  my  flax  together;  draw  out  a 
chapter  and  a hank  in  the  same  moment;  and  fre- 
quently break  off  the  thread  of  my  reel,  and  of  my 
narration,  under  the  influence  of  the  same  associa- 
tion; for  facts  will  obtrude  upon  fictions,  and  the 
sorrows  I idly  feign  are  too  frequently  lost  in  the 
sufferings  I actually  endure.” 

“ The  sufferings  you  endure  P interrupted  Fitzwal- 
ter.  “You!  gracious  heaven!  You,  who  look  the 
very  personification  of  health,  spirit  and  enjoyment !” 

“ Enjoyment !”  she  repeated,  shaking  her  head,  and 
throwing  her  eyes  significantly  from  the  bare  walls 
of  the  gloomy  apartment  to  its  cold  earth  floor. 

^Yes,’1  he  said,  replying  to  her  look,  “if  external 
objects  were  anything  to  you,  that  may  be  true;  but 
with  a spirit  apparently  so  buoyant — a spirit  that 
sparkles  in  your  eye,  varies  your  complexion,  gives 
life,  soul,  and  animation  to  every  feature,  and  every 
word  you  utter ; with  an  imagination  to  create 
around  you  a perpetual  Paradise,  an  imagina- 
tion— — •’ 

“ An  imagination,”  she  interrupted  eagerly,  “ to 


438 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


exalt  every  anguish,  to  exaggerate  every  suffering, 
to  embellish  the  distant  good  and  embitter  the  pre- 
sent evil,  to  oppose  the  dreariness  and  privation  of  a 
rude  and  ungenial  solitude  to  all  the  refined  and 
elegant  tastes  of  polished  social  life,  whose  details 
(passing  through  the  prismatic  medium  of  fancy), 
like  the  broken  and  worthless  particles  flung  into 
the  kaleidoscope,  arrange  themselves  in  symmetric 
beauty  and  harmonic  coloring,  to  charm  or  to  de- 
ceive, and  to  assume  forms,  hues  and  lustre,  beyond 
their  own  intrinsic  qualities.” 

“ But,  good  God  1”  he  exclaimed,  seduced  by  a 
frankness  so  flattering,  struck  by  a detail,  which  in 
delivery  opposed  the  energy  of  strong  feelings  to  the 
playfulness  of  constitutional  gaiety,  “your  solitude 
after  all  must  be  an  act  of  choice,  an  election  made 
for  the  noblest  purposes— for  serving  your  com- 
patriots— for  cherishing  in  retreat  the  enthusiasm,  ‘ 
the  true  source  of  genius,  and  which  is  so  soon  lost 
in  the  passionless  trifling  circles  of  society.  You 

have  only  to  appear  in  the  world  and  to ’ 

“ And  to  be  shown  off  like  a wild  beast ; as  the 
woman  that  writes  the  books;  to  be  added  to  the 
menagerie  of  such  lion  leaders  as  that  halfmaniac 
Lady  Dunore;  to  ‘con  wit  by  rote,’  and  ‘ d'sennuyer 
la  sottise and  then,  having  worn  out  curiosity  with 
novelty,  to  be  sent  back  to  my  den,  with  an  assur- 
ance from  my  keeper  that  I am  perfectly  harmless, 
and  not  half  so  dangerous  as  might  be  supposed. 
Oh,  no ! better,  far  better  that  I should  be  shut  up 
with  my  Irish  inheritance  of  pride,  poverty  and  ta- 
lent ; better  leave  the  mind  in  the  spacious  circuit  of 
its  own  musing.” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


439 


She  smiled,  paused,  and  then  continued:  “Here, 
at  least,  I stand  aloof  from  debasing  protection,  from 
the  taunt  of  envy,  and  the  sneer  of  malignity,  the 
overbearing  of  upstart  pride,  the  contumely  of  self- 
satisfied  ignorance.  Here,  too,  I still  do  some  good. 
I thwart  the  evil  genii  of  the  place,  the  ogrish  Craw- 
leys,  immortalize  the  supercilious  folly  of  my  neigh- 
bors, which,  even  here,  would  look  down  upon  me 
with  that  hatred,  ‘ all  blockheads  bear  to  wit ;’  colo- 
nize my  dear  little  Clotnottyjoy;  encourage  the  arts, 
by  allowing  two  and  eightpence  halfpenny  per  week 
to  a piper;  and  give  ‘my  little  senate  laws’ — the 
Cato  and  Lycurgus  of  the  flourishing  city  of  Bally- 
dab.  Besides,  I clo  much  in  giving  an  example  of 
constant,  ceaseless  industry  and  activity  to  my  peo- 
ple. When  I am  not  writing  I am  planting  pota- 
toes, or  presiding  over  turf  bogs;  or  I am  seated 
Avith  my  wheel  in  a barn,  in  the  midst  of  the  would- 
be  loitering,  lounging,  lazy  matrons  of  Clotnottyjoy; 
and  A\rhen  the  Bhan  Tierna’s  Avheel  goes  round,  every 
wheel  in  the  parish  turns  with  it.  With  all  the  pre- 
judices which  run  so  strong  in  favor  of  the  repre- 
sentatives of  their  ancient  chiefs  on  my  side,  born 
and  reared  among  them,  speaking  their  language, 
and  assimilating  to  them  in  a thousnnd  Avays,  I have 
still  excited  rebellion  against  my  sovereign  authority 
by  the  innovations  of  erecting  chimneys  and  filling 
up  pools ; and  all  my  arguments  are  answered  Avith 
— ‘ Och  ! long  life  to  you,  my  lady;  sure  you’ll  lave 
us  our  taste  of  smoke,  madam,  anyhow,  that  keeps 
the  heat  in  us  through  the  long  winter,  and  not  a 
skreed  to  cover  us.  And,  mushaj  sure  the  pool, 
why,  is  the  life  of  us,  madam,  in  regard  of  the  little 


440 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


clacks  and  pigs;  for  what  would  we  do  with  them 
only  for  the  pool,  my  lady  ? and  only  them  to  pay 
the  rint  and  keep  a rag  on  the  child  re,’  The  worst 
of  it  L3  that  it  is  all  true,”  she  added,  shaking  her 
head.  “ But  pray,  what  do  you  think  of  me,  Gene- 
ral Fitzwalter,  in  the  character  of  Mrs.  Larry  Hoola- 
han,  pleading  the  cause  of  her  pigs  and  poultry  ?” 

As  she  asked  this  question,  she  laid  her  laughing 
face  on  her  arms,  which  were  now  folded  on  her  si- 
lent wheel,  and  fixed  her  dark,  round,  arched  eyes  on 
those  of  her  auditor. 

“ What  do  I think  of  you  ?”  he  exclaimed  abruptly, 
and  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  hers,  yet  with  an  air 
of  eager  impressiveness,  which  showed  him  uncon- 
scious of  the  act.  “ To  tell  you  all  I think  of  you 
would,  perhaps,  be  as  impossible  as  to  follow  the 
changes  of  your  character  and  your  countenance, 
which  have  all  the  brightness  and  evanescence  of  a 
rainbow.  What  I think  of  you  now  is  'lost  in  what  I 
think  of  you  a moment  after.  Nor  can  I,  in  the  Lady 
Clancare  of  to-day,  trace  one  feature  of  the  other 
Lady  Clancare  whom  I beheld,  for  the  first  time,  a 
prisoner  in  the  hall  of  Dunore  Castle.” 

“ Well,”  she  replied,  laughing,  “ I sometimes  almost 
lose  my  own  identity ; for  I am  absolutely  beyond 
my  own  control,  and  the  mere  creature  of  circum- 
stances ; — giving  out  properties  like  certain  plants, 
according  to  the  region  in  which  I am  placed ; and 
resembling  the  blossom  of  the  Chinese  shrub,  which 
is  red  in  the  sunshine  and  white  in  the  shade,  and 
fades  and  revives  under  the  influence  of  the  peculiar 
atmosphere  in  which  it  is  accidentally  placed.  The 
strong  extremes,  and  wild  vicissitudes  of  my  life  have, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


441 


perhaps,  given  a variegated  tone  to  my  character,  and 
a versatility  to  my  mind,  not  its  natural  endowments. 
Abandoned  in  my  infancy  by  my  parents,  who  went 
to  Spain,  my  mother’s  native  land ; left  to  the  care  of 
my  genuinely  Irish,  improvident,  and  enthusiastic 
grandfather;  brought  up  with  all  his  Irish  pride  and 
prepossessions,  among  his  greyhounds  and  finders,  on 
the  mountains ; left  a charge  upon  the  rent-roll  of 
Providence;  forced  by  poverty,  and  the  imprudence  of 
my  mother,  into  a Spanish  convent  there;  released  from 
my  unwilling  seclusion  by  her  death ; and  joyfully  fol- 
lowing a widowed  father,  amidst  the  privations  of  a 
military  life,  in  a distant  land ; reduced  to  close  his 
eyes  among  the  dying  and  the  dead ; helpless  and 
hopeless,  I returned  to  my  native  land,  to  seek  the 
protection  of  my  aged  grandfather — to  find  it  in  a 
jail ; to  labor  for  his  support  and  my  own ; and,  by 
the  light  which  shone  through  his  prison  bars,  to  trace 
scenes  of  fancied  joy  and  ideal  happiness.  Thus 
thrown  upon  life,  friendless,  unprotected,  and  depend- 
ent upon  my  own  exertions  for  subsistence,  I have 
continued  always  before  the  world,  yet  always  in  se- 
clusion ; knowTn  to  ail  in  my  public  capacity,  to  none 
in  my  private  character.  I have  carried  into  society 
the  awkwardness  of  a recluse,  the  susceptibility  of  a 
sensitive  feeling  equally  alive  to  notice  or  to  slight ; 
but,  in  the  freedom  of  intimacy,  in  communion  with 
kindred  minds,  by  the  ardor  of  my  nature,  and  in- 
dulging the  easy,  extravagant  playfulness  of  my  con- 
stitutional gaiety,  I have  yielded  to  still  loving  the 
world,  yet  unable  to  live  in  it ; enduring  solitude,  not 
enjoying  it ; blessed  with  health,  and  animated  by  a 
spirit  that  never  yet  struck  sail  to  vileness,  depend- 


442 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ence,  or  oppression ; noble  by  chance,  an  author  by 
necessity,  and  a woman—”  She  paused  for  an  in- 
stant, and  then  hastily  added:  “I  have  given  you 
this  little  autobiography,  General  Fitz waiter,  to  save 
you  the  trouble  of  guessing  at  me  ; for  I see  you  have 
been  conning  me  over,  as  children  do  conundrums, 
beginning  with  my  first,  and  getting  on  to  my  second, 
but  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  the  strange  combination 
which  makes  my  tout . It  now  lies  before  you  ; and 
I have  thus  intruded  upon  the  right  of  intimacy,  and 
kidnapped  you  into  an  unsought  confidence,  because 
you  have  been  long  known  to  me ; because  your  po- 
sition with  respect  to  Florence  Macarthy  is  known 
to  me  : this  is  my  sanction,  my  excuse.  I know  you 
are  going  to  employ  me,  and  I thus  put  you  in  pos- 
session of  my  bearings,  before  you  instal  me  in  my 
agency.” 

They  had  now  both  arisen  ; General  Fitzwalter  in 
amazement,  in  emotion,  and  admiration,  he  had  no 
power  or  inclination  to  conceal ; Lady  Clancare,  with 
the  color  heightening  in  her  cheek,  and  her  manner 
less  collected,  less  easy,  less  disengaged,  than  when 
she  had  first  begun  to  speak.  There  was  a breathless 
anxiety  in  her  countenance  when  she  paused ; an  ap- 
prehensiveness that  seemed  relieved  by  the  door 
opening,  and  entrance  of  the  maid,  who  stepped  up 
and  whispered  something  in  her  ear. 

Whatever  this  communication  might  be,  it  excited 
considerable  confusion;  and  when  the  girl  had  re- 
ceived her  answer,  and  had  hurried  out  of  the  room, 
Lady  Clancare,  turning  round  in  great  embarrass- 
ment, said,  “ General  Fitzwalter,  you  must  leave  me 
instantly.  Whatever  you  may  have  to  say  relative 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


443 


to  Colonel  Macarthy’s  daughter,  it  must  be  reserved 
for  another  moment ; not  now — pray  go.  This  may 
seem  strange,  but  it  is  inevitable ; and  let  me  en- 
treat— ” she  clasped  her  hands,  and  spoke  with  great 
earnestness — “ let  me  entreat  you  will  not  take  the 
road  you  came — the  Dunore  road.  Turning  to  your 
left,  you  will  come  out  upon  the  beach.  My  maid 
will  conduct  you.  The  tide  must  be  out  or  in:  if 
out,  you  can  ride  along  the  strand;  if  in,  my  boat  is 
moored  among  the  rocks.  You  can  paddle  it  easily; 
I do  myself— and  your  horse  shall  be  sent  after  you 
to  O’Leary’s.  I had  it  put  up  as  I entered.  Now 
then  go — farewell !”  He  took  the  hand  she  extended 
to  him,  and  holding  it  firmly,  though  it  gently  strug- 
gled in  his  grasp,  he  said,  “ I will  go  in  any  way  you 
wish  me  to  go ; but  tell  me  as  frankly  as  I ask  the 
question,  is  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm  the  person  you 
expect  ? for  I perceive  I am  in  somebody’s  way.” 
Lady  Clancare  interrupted  him  with  the  quickness 
of  lightning,  and  haughtily  liberating  her  hand,  she 
repeated,  “ Lord  Adelm ! — General  Fitzwalter,  you 
are  the  first  person  of  your  sex  and  rank  who  ever 
obtruded  upon  this  solitude,  where  pride  and  poverty 
have  sought  an  asylum,  which  delicacy  and  prudence 
should  have  rendered  inviolable.” 

She  turned  away  her  head ; but  not  before  he  had 
perceived  her  eyes  glistening  with  tears,  prompt  as 
her  smiles,  but  infinitely  more  dangerous.  They  were 
the  first  tears  he  had  ever  brought  to  a woman’s  eye ; 
and  from  whatever  source  they  sprang,  however  in- 
adequate their  causes,  (and  he  felt  they  were  inade- 
quate,) their  effect  was  electric : they  left  him  shocked 
and  confounded,  covered  with  shame  and  self-re- 


444 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


proach.  Lady  Clancare  was  moving  towards  the 
door : he  followed,  and  prevented  her  exit. 

“ Lady  Clancare,”  he  said,  “ you  must  take  me  as  I 
am,  as  one  under  the  influence  of  tyrannical  feelings, 
habitually  hut  vainly  combatted.  You  have  thrown 
me  off  my  guard.  I have  offended  you  unwarily : 
hear  me  a moment;  I will  explain  to  you — — ” 

“No,  no!  not  now.  You  must  leave  me;  you 
must  not  be  seen  here,”  she  answered  in  a hurried 
voice. 

“ I will  not  leave  you,  be  the  consequence  what  it 
may,  till  you  promise  me  another,  and  immediate  op- 
portunity of  seeing  you.  I must  see  you,  for  my  own 
sake,  for  Florence  Macarthy’s  sake,  for  your  sake, 
perhaps.” 

Lady  Clancare  turned  aside  her  head  as  he  spoke. 
Something  between  a smile  and  a frown  struggled  on 
her  countenance,  and  she  replied : 

“I  ought  not,  I cannot  receive  you  here  by  ap- 
pointment under  my  own  roof.  You  can  write  to 
Florence  Macarthy ; I will  convey  your  letter ; I will 
do  every  thing  to  forward  her  happiness,  short  of  en- 
dangering my  own  character;  but  leave  me  now,  I 
entreat,  I insist.” 

“ I have  written,”  he  said,  .producing  a letter, 
a but—”  he  hesitated,  and  still  held  it  back,  as  if  un- 
willing to  part  with  it,— u but  I know  not  how  far 
this  letter  may  now’— — ” 

Lady  Clancare  snatched  it  eagerly,  and  placed  it 
in  her  bosom.  u There,”  she  said,  “ she  shall  have  it 
immediately : you  may  depend  on  me  where  she  is 
concerned,  and  I will  forward  you  her  answer.  I 
told  you  you  would  employ  me : but  remember  this 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


445 


visit,  so  unexpected  on  my  part,  so  unwarranted  on 
yours,  is  not  to  be  repeated,  and  never  to  be  revealed 
—remember  that.” 

“ Never  to  be  revealed ! I swear  solemnly,”  he  re- 
plied, with  energy;  “but  by  all  that  is  sacred,  I will 
not  leave  this  country  without  seeing  you  again ; 
without  seeing  you  here.  Observe  me,  Lady  Clan- 
care  ; I am  a man  who  has  fought  against  a wayward 
fortune ; by  the  force  of  perseverance,  firmness,  de- 
cision, and  enterprise,  success  has  followed  the  bias 
of  these  natural  impulsions.  I have  no  other  guides, 
and  I shall  still  obey  them.  If  you  are  the  owner 
of  that  handkerchief ; if  you  are  the  person  who — ” 
He  paused  and  then  added  in  a hurried  tone,  “ That 
ascertained,  I shall  then  come  once  more,  and  bid 
you  an  eternal  farewell.  If  Florence  Macarthy,  on 
the  contrary,  is  the  invisible  demon  or  angel  who  fol- 
lows, or  rather  leads,  the  steps  of  Lord  Adelm, 
then 

“ The  marchioness  is  walking  up  the  court,  my 
lady,  and  has  left  her  coach  at  the  gates  below,”  said 
the  maid,  putting  in  her  wild  head  with  a fluttered 
look.  Lady  Clancare  stamped  her  little  foot  with 
impatience.  “ Go  now,  for  God’s  sake  I”  she  cried. 

“ Do  you  then,”  he  said,  seizing  her  hand,  and 
with  a countenance  which  had  undergone  a rapid 
change  since  the  maid  had  announced  Lady  Dunore  as 
the  expected  visitor,  “ do  you  return  to  the  castle 
with  her — with  Lady  Dunore  to-day  ?” 

“Yes,  yes,  I dine  there;  but  if  you  notice  me 
there,  or  anywhere,  without  my  special  permission, 
you  lose  me  forever— that  is,  you  lose  the  benefit  of 
my  agency  with  Florence  Macarthy.  Now,  then, 


446 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


pray  follow  the  servant ; she  will  conduct  you  to  the 
beach.5’ 

He  had  half  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  while  she 
was  speaking,  but  he  suddenly  dropped  it  and  fol- 
lowed the  maid,  who  led  him  through  the  stone  passage 
to  a little  door  that  opened  on  the  strand.  There  he 
found  his  horse  fastened  by  the  bridle  to  an  iron  an- 
chorage ring  in  the  rocks.  The  tide  was  coming  in, 
but  lie  outgalloped  its  stealing  progress,  and  arrived 
with  incredible  celerity  at  Monaster-ny-Oriel. 

He  found  O’Leary  before  the  door  of  the  chauntry, 
exposing  to  the  air  a large  open  deal  box,  lined  with 
pictures  of  saints  and  devils,  his  countenance  full  of 
bustling  importance,  and  his  voice  raised  to  the  high- 
est pitch,  singing  Carolan’s  famous  “lleceipt  for 
Drinking.55 

“I  was  just,  plaze„your  honor,”  said  O Leary, 
coming  forward  to  take  the  general’s  horse  as  he 
alighted,  “ I was  just  airing  my  chest,  sir,  in  respect 
of  getting  ready  for  our  journey,  and  was  conning  in 
my  own  mind,  when  your  honor  galloped  up,  whether 
it  would  contain  my  Genealogical  History  of  the 
Macarthies,  or  whether  I’d  divide  them  into  two  turf 
kishes,  just  to  make  a show  travelling  through  the 
country ; for  when  Carte  got  lave  to  take  the  Or- 
monde papers  out  of  the  evidence  chamber  at  Kil- 
kenny Castle,  to  compose  the  life  of  the  great  Duke 
of  Ormonde,  he  filled  three  Irish  cars  with  them; 
and  I’d  be  sorry,  troth,  that  the  documents  of  the 
real  Irish  Macarthies-More,  Kings  of  Munster,  would 
be  of  less  bulk  than  the  papers  of  them  Saxon 
churls,  the  Butlers.” 

“ I am  afraid,  however,”  said  the  general,  smiling, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


447 


“ we  must  dispense  with  their  honorable  burthen  in 
our  immediate  journey,  O’Leary.” 

“ We  must,  gineral?”  replied  O'Leary,  in  a tone  of 
mortification ; “ and  there  being  mixed  through  the 
Macarthy  papers  many  notes  and  codices,”  he  added, 
in  a whispering  voice,  “ that  might  be  serviceable  on 
the  trial ; for  they’ll  fight  a great  fight  afore  they  give 
up,  sir,  and  right  vanquisheth  might.” 

“ I am  not  so  certain  of  that,”  said  General  Fitz- 
walter;  “ but  at  all  events,  O’Leary,  I shall  not  leave 
this  country  as  soon  as  I expected.” 

“You  won’t,  gineral?”  he  replied,  with  a counte- 
nance expressive  of  curiosity  and  surprise ; then,  after 
a pause,  he  added,  “ Och  ! then  I’ll  have  my  docu- 
ments home  from  the  lord  deputy  before  we  start. 
And  thinks  Moriagh  will  plaze  you,  the  day,  in  regard 
of  a dinner,  sir,  and  ordered  a bottle  of  Portugal 
wine  from  the  Dunore  Arms  myself,  your  honor,  just 
in  honor  of  the  day ;”  and  he  looked  at  the  general 
significantly. 

“ I am  glad  of  it,”  said  the  general ; “ but  I shall 
not  dine  here ; I dine  at  Dunore  Castle.” 

O'Leary  started,  put  his  hand  under  his  wig,  with 
a look  of  perplexity,  but  only  repeated,  “At  Dunore 
Castle !”  then  giving  the  horse  to  one  of  his  scholars, 
who  was  waiting  about  the  ruins,  -he  followed  the 
general  to  his  tower,  observing,  “Well,  gineral,  so 
you  didn’t  see  the  Bhan  Tierna  after  all,  I’ll  ingage.” 
“ Why  should  you  think  that  ?” 

“ Because,  plaze  your  honor,  I heard  she  was  in 
the  mountains  the  morning,  seeing  the  praties  got  in, 
and  sorrow^  a foot  she’d  lave  that  for  the  King  of 
England,  if  he  was  to  come  to  see  her.  Och ! she’s  a 


448 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


great  farmer,  and  has  done  more  for  Clotnottyjoy  in 
a year  and  a half  than  the  Crawleys  ever  could ; in 
respect  of  the  hearts  and  hands  of  the  whole  country 
being  with  her,  and  her  giving  every  man  his  own 
little  lase.” 

To  this  observation  the  general  made  no  reply ; 
and  they  ascended  the  stairs  together ; the  guest  to 
dress,  and  the  host,  under  pretence  of  assisting  him, 
to  loiter  about  his  person. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

He  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of  love  upon  him. 

Shakspeare. 

I’ll  venture — for  my  new  enlivened  spirits  prompt  me. 

Milton, 

General  Fitz Walter  was  dressed  for  dinner  a full 
hour  before  the  usual  time  of  assembling  at  Dunore 
Castle.  All  his  motions  were  involuntarily  acceler- 
ated ; a feverish  restlessness  urged  his  most  trivial 
actions  : his  whole  existence  had  received  a new  im- 
pulsion by  the  operation  of  one  unaccustomed  and 
absorbing  sentiment;  an  overpowering  motive  had 
unexpectedly  sprung  up  to  actuate  his  conduct ; and 
the  obedient  will  followed  its  spring  with  a prompti 
tude  and  energy  consonant  to  his  nature  and  his 
habits. 

Woman,  who  had  hitherto  imperiously  governed 
his  senses,  now  for  the  first  time  obtained  a moral 
influence  over  his  mind,  and  became,  not  the  object 
of  a caprice,  but  of  a passion ; and  passion,  whatever 
might  be  its  cause,  wras  his  element. 

The  person  of  Lady  Clancare  was  not  particularly 
distinguished  by  its  beauty,  but  it  was  characteristic. 
Fresh,  healthful  and  intelligent,  she  had  neither  the 
symmetry  of  statuary  loveliness,  nor  the  brilliant 
coloring  of  pictured  charms ; but  she  was  piquante, 
graceful  and  vivacious : her  mouth  and  teeth  were 


450 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


well  compared  by  O’Leary  to  those  of  a young 
hound ; her  head  was  picturesque,  and  her  whole  ap- 
pearance the  very  personification  of  womanhood. 
Silent,  and  at  rest,  she  was  scarcely  distinguishable 
from  the  ordinary  class  of  women ; but  when  her 
countenance  was  thrown  into  play,  when  she  spoke 
with  the  anxiety  to  please,  or  the  consciousness  of 
pleasing,  there  was  a nobility,  a variety  of  expression 
and  coloring,  which  corresponded  with  the  vigor, 
spirit  and  energy  of  her  extraordinary  mind. 

This  indication,  which  might  have  repelled  others, 
was  the  charm  that  fascinated  Fitz waiter.  The 

kindling  susceptibility  it  betrayed  harmonized  with 
his  own  prompt  and  impetuous  disposition,  bespeak- 
ing a congeniality  of  feeling,  and  a reciprocity  of 
intelligence,  which  he  had  never  found  in  man,  which 
he  had  never  sought  for  in  woman,  and  which, 
whether  it  took  the  calm  and  steady  form  of  friend- 
ship, or  the  bright  intoxicating  aspect  of  love,  was 
still  the  object  of  his  unconscious  research,  and  the 
indispensable  ingredient  of  his  permanent  schemes  of 
happiness. 

This  conviction  struck  at  once  upon  his  imagina- 
tion with  that  force  which  accompanied  all  its  strong 
and  promptly  received  impressions.  It  awakened 
his  passions  in  all  their  natural  vehemence ; and,  im- 
patient of  all  suspense,  ill-brooking  inevitable  delay, 
he  would  have  gone  at  once  to  the  “ head  and  front” 
of  his  views  and  hopes ; he  would,  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, have  followed  their  object  “ from  pole  to  pole, 
over  alps  and  oceans,  or  have  remained  fixed  and 
rooted  to  the  spot  she  inhabited,  wooed  her,  won 
her,  clung  to  her,  and  cherished  her and,  according 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


451 


to  the  startling  conclusion  of  Lord  Adelxn,  “ married 
her;”  but  that  he  was  already  married — married,  at 
least,  he  considered  himself,  in  honor,  in  gratitude, 
until  she  who  shared  his  bondage  voluntarily  broke  it. 

There  was,  too,  another  barrier  to  the  impulse  of 
his  passionate  feelings.  It  was  just  possible  that  all 
he  admired  and  all  he  sought  was  devoted  to  another. 
Those  powers  and  endowments,  so  attractive  in  his 
eyes,  might  be  applied  to  the  subjection  of  cue  who 
would  only  prize  them  so  long  as  their  versatility  and 
ingenuity  could  confirm  and  feed  his  visionary  tastes 
and  metaphysical  delusions  ; so  long  as  they  could  ex- 
cite ideal  prepossessions  in  favor  of  the  invisible 
agent,  which  the  actual  woman  would  probably  nei- 
ther awaken  nor  perpetuate. 

From  several  corroborating  circumstances,  Fitz- 
walter  was  almost  convinced  that  Lady  Clancai  e was 
the  Egeria,  the  demon  of  Lord  Adclm,  who  had 
either  watched  over  or  bewildered  him,  had  made 
him  the  object  of  her  care,  or  the  victim  of  her  ca- 
price, since  his  arrival  in  Ireland.  Her  knowledge  of 
himself  his  name,  and  profession,  which  she  had  re- 
vealed to  Lord  Adelm,  might  have  come  through  de- 
tails received  from  her  cousin,  Florence  Macarthy ; 
but  where  she  could  have  seen  him  in  Ireland,  or  how 
Miss  Macarthy  had  learned  his  arrival,  were  still 
enigmas. 

The  talent  and  love  for  the  embroglio  which  Lady 
Clancare  had  herself  confessed  to  have  inherited  from 
her  Spanish  mother,  and  which  took  from  the  sim- 
plicity of  her  character  what  it  added  to  its  spirit 
and  ingenuity,  pointed  her  out  as  the  agent  of  mys- 
tery, who  had  directed  the  conduct  and  led  the  steps 


452 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  the  accomplished  idealist ; and  who  had  summoned 
around  her  “ most  willing  spirits  to  do  her  service” 
in  the  incongruous  forms  of  Mrs.  Magillicuddy  and 
Owny,  the  Rabragh.  The  object  of  employing  so 
clumsy  an  agent  as  the  former  was  not  very  obvious ; 
but  tiie  latter  personage  was  manifestly  devoted  to 
her  orders,  and  might  for  many  reasons  be  deemed 
capable  of  promoting  her  still  inexplicable  views. 
He  was  her  foster-brother,  that  bond  of  service  and 
devotion  so  sacred  in  Ireland.  She  had  also  relieved 
him  from  misery  and  incarceration  by  her  exertion 
and  interference.  He  had  conveyed  her  from  Dunore 
to  Dublin,  according  to  O’Leary’s  account,  and  he 
might,  on  her  return  to  the  south,  have  been  naturally 
summoned  to  meet  her  at  Cashel,  either  to  carry  her 
home,  or  to  “ do  her  behests.” 

Irishmen  of  his  class,  endowed  with  zeal,  activity, 
and  evasion,  might  with  great  probability  have  en- 
gaged in  any  scheme  to  forward  the  interests  of  his 
benevolent  patroness,  as  he  would  be  true  to  any 
trust  reposed  in  him ; more  especially  by  that  popu- 
lar Bhan  Tierna,  whose  health  he  had  pledged  at'the 
cottage  at  Lis-na-sleugh  with  a solemnity  almost 
religious. 

This  act  had  not  escaped  the  observation  of  Fitz- 
walter,  and  these  suppositions  and  inferences  (quite 
possible,  and  more  than  probable)  were  gradually 
worked  out,  distinctly  examined,  and  rapidly  com- 
bined in  his  fluctuating  thoughts,  as  he  pursued  his 
way  on  foot  to  Dunore  Castle.  To  a mind  so  quick 
in  its  perceptions,  so  energetic  in  all  its  workings, 
slight  data  were  sufficient  to  lead  to  a just  result ; and 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


453 


his  natural  acuteness  got  the  start  in  this,  as  in  many- 
other  instances  of  progressive  investigation. 

To  detect  Lady  Clancare  in  her  concealed  and 
mysterious  character  was  one  thing;  to  ascertain  the 
motive,  to  arrive  at  the  object  of  her  singular  and  al- 
most equivocal  conduct,  was  another.  His  life  had 
not  been  a life  of  reflection ; and  woman,  though  fre- 
quently an  object  of  his  devotion,  had  never  been  to 
him  a subject  of  analysis.  Yet  he  knew  enough  of 
the  general  principles  of  human  nature  to  understand 
that  human  conduct  must  be  motived  by  passion ; and 
he  could  conceive  but  one  passion  incidental  to  fe- 
male existence — and  that  was  love. 

He  would  have  decided  at  once  that  Lady  Clancare 
was  in  love  with  Lord  Adelm,  but  that  the  supposi- 
tion was  too  painful  to  indulge.  He  knew  not  why, 
but  it  maddened  him;  and  he  was  rescued  from  its 
poignancy  by  the  reflection  that  Lord  Adelm  had 
never  seen  her,  except  on  her  first  appearance  in  the 
hall  of  Dunore,  where  she  had  given  him  the  impres- 
sion of  being  a mere  minaudiere , a caprice  of  his  mo- 
ther. As  a woman  of  talent,  one,  too,  who  had  ob- 
tained celebrity  by  that  talent,  Lord  Adelm  would 
have  detested  her ; and  the  spirit  and  vigor  of  mind 
which  made  her  charm  with  Fitz waiter,  would  have 
rendered  her  insupportable  in  the  eyes  of  one  who 
placed  the  perfection  of  woman  in  her  fatuity.  Still 
he  believed  that,  in  spite  of  her  equivocal  and  playful 
evasion,  the  handkerchief  found  by  Lord  Adelm  was 
purposely  dropped  by  Lady  Clancare.  The  motive 
of  this  mystery,  as  well  as  the  train  of  events  in  which 
he  had  in  some  respects  been  involved  himself  since 
his  arrival  in  Ireland,  remained  unfathomable. 


454 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


The  suspicions  which  now  gradually  lighted  on 
the  head  of  Lady  Clancare  were  necessarily  with-  | 
drawn  from  Florence  Macarthy,  the  refugee  of  the  ; 
Convent  of  the  Annunciation.  With  this  person  the  : 
fate  of  General  Fitzwalter  was  strangely  linked.  His 
connection  with  the  daughter  of  the  brave  Colonel 
Macarthy,  to  which  he  had  alluded  in  his  conversa- 
tion with  Lady  Clancare.  and  with  which,  to  his 
amazement,  and  a little  to  his  confusion,  that  lady 
had  confessed  she  was  already  acquainted,  was  a ro- 
mantic episode  in  the  strange  history  of  his  eventful 
life.  To  that  event  memory  referred  with  a painful 
sensation  that  originated  in  feelings  not  at  rest  with 
themselves.  If  there  was  one  circumstance  in  Lis  life 
which  had  left  a shadow  behind  it,  it  was  his  connec- 
tion with  Florence  Macarthy. 

His  efforts  to  become  reconciled  to  himself  were 
reduced  to  a proposal,  which,  hastily  conceived,  and 
as  hastily  executed,  wuis  contained  in  the  letter 
which  he  now  lamented  having  trusted  to  Lady  Clan- 
care. 

The  business  which  had  brought  him  to  Ireland 
was  effected.  It  was  his  interest  to  return  imme- 
diately to  England,  and  he  could  give  to  himself  no 
plausible  cause  of  delay,  but  the  necessity  he  fancied 
or  believed  himself  to  be  under,  of  waiting  an  answer 
to  the  letter  he  had  dispatched  to  Florence  Ma- 
carthy. It  would  have  been  more  consonant  to  his 
habitual  modes  of  acting  himself  to  have  flown  to  her 
convent,  and  sought  a personal  interview,  an  imme- 
diate and  decisive  sentence  ; but  his  feelings  opposed 
themselves  to  a conduct  so  natural ; and  he  was  more 
inclined  to  defer,  than  to  expedite,  personal  comma- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


455 


nication  with  one  whose  presence  could  only  awaken 
ungracious  associations,  and  who  was  perhaps  the 
only  human  being  in  existence  before  whom  he  would 
have  blushed  to  present  himself. 

After  a long,  slow-paced,  circuitous  route,  consid- 
erably lengthened  in  fact,  but  shortened  in  idea,  by 
the  agitation  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  preoccupation 
of  his  mind,  he  at  last  arrived  at  the  portico  of  Dun- 
ore  ; and,  with  the  exception  of  old  Crawley,  who 
had  left  Dunore  that  morning  for  Dublin,  and  of 
Lord  Adelm,  who  had  not  yet  returned,  he  found  the 
usual  party  assembled  in  the  great  hall  of  the  castle, 
and  disposed  in  a manner  as  ludicrous  as  it  was  un- 
expected. 

Lady  Dunore  occupied  the  foreground.  She  stood, 
with  a coarse  bib  and  apron  tied  over  her  superb  din- 
ner dress  of  crimson  satin,  and  filled  with  green  rushes, 
which  she  was  fastening  in  sheaves.  The  floor  was 
spread  with  the  same  materials,  which  Mr.  Heneage, 
Mr.  Pottinger,  and  Miss  Crawley  were  engaged  in 
peeling;  while  Mr.  Daly  and  Conway  Crawley  were 
reading  the  papers ; and  Lord  Rosbrin,  covered  with 
rushes,  was  spouting  “Mad  Tom;’5  Lord  Frederick 
and  Lady  Georgiana,  as  usual,  were  lounging  on  an 
ottoman,  and  laughing  together  at  the  whole  party. 
At  the  sight  of  General  Fitzwalter,  Lady  Dunore 
sprung  delightedly  forward,  and  welcomed  him  with 
an  ardor  for  which  even  vanity  itself  could  find  no 
adequate  cause. 

“ This  is  so  good  of  you,”  she  said,  “ so  unexpect- 
edly kind  ! Fitzadelm  endeavored  to  persuade  me 
this  morning  that  you  were  bored  to  death  with  us 
all ; that  we  did  not  in  the  least  amuse  you ; that  you 


456 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY 


were  engaged  in  business  and  law,  and  things ; that, 
in  short,  you  would  neither  breakfast,  dine,  nor  sup 
with  us;  and  that,  as  to  sleeping,  you  would  as  soon 
take  up  your  lodging  in  Bedlam.  You  can’t  imagine 
how  this  fretted  and  annoyed  me,  because  I wanted 

you  for  a particular ” She  paused  abruptly,  and 

added,  “ that  is,  I wanted  you  to,  to — help  me  to  peel 
rushes.  You  see  we  are  all  occupied  with  this  rush 
manufactory.  I hope,  if  you  settle  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, which  perhaps,”  she  added,  with  a significant 
look,  “you  may,  that  you  will  encourage  the  rush 
manufactory ; for  the  whole  misery  of  this  country, 
General  Fitz waiter,  arises  out  of  the  w^ant  of  work, 
and  food,  and  things.  Isn’t  it  so,  Lady  Clancare  ?” 
General  Fitzwalter  followed  the  direction  of  this 
question,  and,  not  without  emotion,  perceived  Lady 
Clancare  seated  in  the  arm-chair  at  the  back  of  the 
hall,  which  the  preceding  day  had  been  occupied  by 
one  of  the  judges.  She  looked  pale  and  spiritless,  as 
one  exhausted,  and  under  the  reaction  of  overex- 
citement. She  colored,  however,  slightly  at  Lady 
Dunore’s  appeal,  and  returned  an  affirmative  but  si- 
lent nod  of  the  head.  Every  one  smiled,  and  this 
smile  increased  the  color  in  her  cheek. 

“ The  fact  is,”  continued  Lady  Dunore,  following 
the  general’s  eyes  with  triumphant  satisfaction  in 
her  own,  “ no  one  knows  anything  of  the  real  state 
of  this  country  but  Lady  Clancare.  She  has  given 
me  an  entirely  new  view  of  things.  It  is  too  dread- 
ful, too  heartrending.  It  is  all  a tragedy  clu  plus 
beau  noir . I have  cried  myself  sick  as  l drove  here.” 
Every  one  tittered,  the  Crawdeys  almost  aubibly ; 
and  Lady  Clancare  colored  deeper  than  before. 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


457 


“ The  miracle  is,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  in  a vehement 
manner,  and  wholly  engrossed  with  her  own  sensa- 
tions, “ the  miracle  is  that  they  don’t  all  arise  and 
murder  us.  They  will  do  so  soon ; and  I think  they 
are  quite  justified.  I wbuld  not  bring  them  to  trial 
if  they  were  to  murder  my  whole  household.  I will 
have  no  more  secret  committees,  no  more  green  bags 
and  special  commissions ; 4 employ,  not  hang,’  that’s 
my  maxim  now.  It  is,  however,  curious  enough  to 
see  people  troubling  their  heads  about  elections  and 
evangelical  schools,  and  private  theatricals  and  cha- 
pels, and  bible  societies  and  things,  when  the  people 
to  be  represented  are  starving ; the  people  to  be  edi- 
fied, amused  and  instructed,  are  literally  perishing 
for  want.  Give  them  something  to  eat  first,  and 
then  instruct  them;  teach  them  to  labor,  and  then  to 
read;  give  them  wants  that  civilize  humanity,  and 
that  raise  them  above  the  brute  creation,  and  then 
edify  them ; for,  after  all,  the  first  law  of  nature  is  to 
exist.  People  must  live,  in  order  to  live  piously; 
and  it  is  a fact  that  bread  is  as  necessary  as  books ; 
and  if  people  will  die  of  the  typhus  from  cold,  want 
and  filth,  why  they  cannot  then  read  the  multitude 
of  evangelical  tracts  which  are  written  for  their  use, 
and  population  will  thin  as  tracts  multiply.  Is  it  not 
so,  Lady  Clancare  ?” 

This  question,  asked  with  emphatic  gravity,  ex- 
cited new  smiles  of  ridicule  or  amusement;  for  all 
were  quite  aware  that  Lady  Dunore’s  inspiration 
and  authority  came  from  the  same  source— a source 
which  now,  for  the  moment,  ruled  the  ascendant. 
Meantime,  Lady  Clancare’s  downcast  but  rapidly 
moving  eyes  seemed  to  take  in  the  suffrages  of  the 


458 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


whole  circle.  She  colored,  and  only  replied  to  Lady 
Dunore’s  parroted  details  with  another  oracular  nod, 
while  the  officiating  priestess  went  on  under  the  in- 
fluence of  her  delpliic  deity: 

“No  one  can  be  more  devoted  to  the  Irish  Go- 
vernment than  I am,  and  all  their  measures ; and  I 
think  our  Irish  secretary  the  cleverest  little  creature 
in  the  world,  as  I said  to  the  premier,  after  he  made 

his  maiden  speech.  As  to  the  viceregal  B s, 

they  happen  to  be  my  particular  friends,  and  I was 
quite  - delighted  they  got  such  a good  thing,  poor 
dears ! and,  in  fact,  they  could  not  have  gotten  on  at 
all  if  they  had  not  been  sent  over  here,  and  got  their 
thirty  thousand  a year.  But  when  it  comes  to  con- 
sidering Ireland  in  its  actual  state;  and  when  one 
hears  you,  Mr.  Pottinger,  talk  of  your  Lady  Lieuten- 
ant’s encouraging  the  Irish  manufactures,  because 
she  wears  a tabinet  gown  on  St.  Patrick’s  night,  or 
St.  Patrick’s  day,  or  in  St.  Patrick’s  Church ; or, 
what  is  it,  Lord  Frederick,  about  the  kettle-drums 
and  things,  and  Noodle  and  Doodle?  And  you,  Mr. 
Conway  Crawley,  talking  of  the  Chief  Secretary’s 
expedients  and  measures  of  necessary  coercion,  his 
eminent  worth  and  that  sort  of  thing,  when  all  he 
can  know  of  Ireland  must  be  collected  from  such 
people  as  you  and  your  father;  or,  as  he  whirls 
through  the  country  in  a chaise-and-four  to  shoot 
partridge  or  grouse  at  Lord  Clan — this,  or  Lord  Kill 
— t’others ; some  of  your  new-made  lords,  par  exem- 
ple,  who  are  excellent  people,  only  no  one  cares 
much  about  them  with  us ; it’s  quite  too  ridiculous ! 
Don’t  you  think  so,  Lady  Clancare  ? and  when  the 
prettiest  rush- work  in  the  world  might  be  done,  and 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


459 


F ! encouraged  by  them  all,  as  it  is  done,  at  that  very 
j ancient  ruinous  town  of  Ballydab,  the  Irish  Balbec, 
as  one  may  call  it.  For  my  part,  I shall  employ  all 
the  poor  at  Dunore  at  rush- work.  I’ll  have  rush  so- 
• fas,  rush  chairs,  rush  mats,  rush  fillagree,  rush  lights, 
! and  rush  carpets ; everything,  in  short,  that  can  be 
1 made  of  rushes.’, 

! i “ Then,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  flourishing  about  the 
hall, 

i “ Then  shall  we  wantons,  light  of  heart, 

Tickle  the  senseless  rushes  with  our  heels.” 

Here  dinner  was  announced,  and  Lord  Adelm 
alighted  at  the  door  at  the  same  moment,  and  went 
to  dress.  The  rest  of  the  party  proceeded  to  the 
dining-room. 

Mr.  Daly  officiated  at  the  head  of  the  table,  in  the 
place"  of  Lord  Fitzadelm.  Lady  Clancare  took  the 
seat  her  rank  assigned  her,  on  his  right  hand.  Lady 
Dunore  took  hers  by  the  side  of  Lady  Clancare  ; and 
she  contrived  to  place  General  Fitzwalter  opposite  to 
both,  by  directing  him  to  a seat,  most  mal-apropos, 
between  Miss  Crawley  and  her  nephew.  There  was 
something  in  the  presence  of  this  extraordinary 
stranger  which  had  becofne  extremely  irksome  to 
the  Crawleys.  They  had  received  a sort  of  half-given 
confidence  respecting  him  from  old  Crawley,  which 
had  terrified  and  confounded  them ; and  though, 
either  in  timidity  or  distrust,  he  had  never  fully  and 
explicitly  opened  his  heart  to  them  on  a subject 
which  began  to  oppress  his  conscience  in  proportion 
i as  it  awakened  his  apprehension,  they  had  yet  ga- 
thered enough  to  inspire  considerable  alarm  ; and 
they  had  urged  the  old  man  to  go  to  Dublin,  previous 


160 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


to  his  election  for  Glannacrime,  for  the  purpose  of 
anticipating  or  frustrating  a discovery,  which  could 
not  long  be  retarded,  and  was  pregnant  with  evil  to 
the  character,  influence,  and  property  of  the  whole 
Crawley  family. 

Miss  Crawley  and  her  nephew  now  sat  silent  on 
either  side  of  their  ill-boding  neighbor ; while  Lady 
Dunore,  with  her  mouth  in  Lady  Clancare’s  ear,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  on  General  Fitzwalter,  continued 
wholly  inattentive  to  the  rest  of  her  guests. 

Lord  Adelm  entered  the  room  with  the  second 
course. 

“ How  did  you  get  on  at  Glannacrime,  Fitzadelm  ?”  \ 
asked  Lady  Dunore,  carelessly,  as  soon  as  he  had 
finished  his  soup. 

“ I don’t  know  exactly  what  your  ladyship’s  ques- 
tion points  at,  but  I got  off  as  soon  as  I could.” 

“ Did  you  speak  to  them  ?”  she  returned,  with  a 
look  of  nausea ; “ I mean,  to  those  horrors,  the  forty- 
shilling freeholders  ?” 

“ Speak ! oh,  yes,  of  course,  ‘ in  wholesome  manner, 
madam.’  ” 

“ Indeed!  Well,  and  what  did  you  say,  my  dear 
Adelm?”  continued  Lady  Dunore,  with  a little  in- 
creasing interest. 

“1  bid  them  wash  their  faces,  and  keep  clean  their 
teeth,  and  so  troubled  them  no  further.” 

“ That  must  have  surprised  them,”  said  Lady  Du- 
nore, much  pleased  with  what  she  took  very  literally ; 

“ but  it  was  excellent  advice.” 

“ I think  it  must  have  astonished  them  a little,” 
said  Mr.  Daly,  laughing. 

“ Yes,”  observed  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ it  must ; but  you 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


461 


might  have  chosen  a better  speech,  Fitzadelm.  You 
should  have  said,  as  I did  from  the  hustings  of  Kil- 
rosbrin,  before  they  got  me  into  the  upper  house : 

; Your  voices  ! For  your  voices  I have  fought, — 
Watched  for  your  voices  ; for  your  voices  bear 
Of  wounds  two  dozen  odd.  Battles  thrice  six 
I’ve' seen  and  heard  of.  For  your  voices  have 
Done  many  things,  some  more,  some  less !’  ” 

“ And  did  they  believe  you,  my  patriotic  Corioros- 
brin?”  asked  Lord  Frederick,  languidly. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Lord  Rosbrin,  abstractedly.  “The 
first  citizen  said — 

‘ He  has  done  nobly.’ 

The  second  citizen — 

‘ Therefore  let  him  be  consul. 

The  gods  give  him  joy,  and  make  him  friend 
To  the  people.’ 

And  all  cried— 

‘ Amen ! amen ! God  save  the  noble  consul !’ 

And  then  exeunt  O.  P.  I speak  from  Covent  Garden 
prompt-book.” 

“ Had  I known  of  your  lordship’s  intention  of  visit- 
ing Glannacrime  this  morning,”  said  young  Crawley, 
“1  should  have  accompanied  you.” 

“It  was  quite  unnecessary,”  said  Lord  A delm,  coldly. 

“ How  were  you  received,  Fitzadelm  ?”  asked  Mr. 
Daly. 

“Not  at  all;  they  did  not  know  me.  I look  upon 
it  as  against  the  freedom  of  election  to  come  forward 
personally.  I went,  however,  to  their  sessions-house, 
where  a committee  was  sitting  in  my  favor.  I told 
them  Lord  Adelm’s  opinion  in  a few  words  : that  he 
was  aware  they  would  elect  him  if  they  could  make 
anything  of  it ; but  that  they  would  sell  him  and  their 


462 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


votes  together,  if  they  could  make  more  by  the  bar- 
gain.” 

“ That  must  have  widened  the  little  eyes  of  the 
yellow  buttons  and  peacock’s  feathers,”  observed  Lord 
Frederick,  laughingly. 

“ It  is  a new  mode  of  electioneering,”  said  Mr. 
Daly,  evidently  pleased  with  his  grand-nephew. 

“ And  will  doubtless  succeed,”  said  Conway  Craw- 
ley, in  a whisper  to  Mr.  Pottinger. 

Conversation  now  took  a desultory  turn,  and  the 
ladies  retired  early.  Lady  Dunore  and  Lady  Clan- 
care  walked  from  the  dining-room  into  the  court, 
though  it  was  after  nightfall.  Lady  Georgiana  went 
to  sleep,  as  usual,  in  order  to  call  up  her  looks  for  the 
evening ; and  Miss  Crawley  retired  to  brood  over  her 
own  venom,  which  every  hour  was  increasing  by  the 
events  of  the  day. 

Mr.  Pottinger  had  scarcely  bowed  out  the  ladies, 
and  closed  the  door  after  them,  when  Lord  Adelm 
beckoned  General  Fitzwalter  to  the  window. 

Well,”  he  said,  with  a lock  of  anxious  impatience 

“Well!”  said  the  general,  something  perplexed. 
“ I have  nothing  to  tell  you,  save  that  the  person  to 
whom  I alluded  this  morning  is  not,  cannot  be,  your 
sylph,  your  woman.” 

He  dwelt  with  a species  of  inveteracy  on  the  latter 
word;  and  Lord  Adelm,  pronouncing  with  a sigh  of 
disappointment,  and  a look  of  mortification,  “ I thought 
so,  and  I am  now  as  far  as  ever  from  the  ideal 
presence,”  they  both  resumed  their  seats. 

The  gentlemen  sat  late ; conversation  had  taken  a 
wide  range.  When  they  adjourned  to  the  drawing- 
room, even  the  most  temperate  were  a little  animated, 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


463 


if  not  flushed,  by  Lady  Dunore’s  excellent  claret ; yet 
scarcely  more  wine  had  been  taken  than  served  to 
dissipate  the  apathetic  dulness  which,  in  spite  of  Lady 
Dunore’s  own  impetuous  spirits  and  vivacious  charac- 
ter, habitually  presided  over  the  circle  at  Dunore. 

When  the  men  entered  the  drawing-room,  they 
found  it  only  occupied  by  Lady  Georgiana  and  Miss 
Crawley ; the  former,  with  her  elegantly  draped  figure, 
lying  apparently  half  asleep  on  a canopied  couch  ; the 
latter,  seated  near  her,  was  so  occupied  in  some  nar- 
ration she  was  muttering,  that  the  gentlemen  had  ad- 
vanced into  the  middle  of  the  room  before  she  ob- 
served them.  Lady  Georgiana,  with  a pretty  affected 
start  of  astonishment,  opened  her  soft,  languid  eyes, 
and  made  an  effort  to  rise.  Lord  Rosbrin,  meantime 
hanging  over  her,  exclaimed — 

“ Her  body  sleeps  in  Capulet’s  monument, 

While  her  immortal  part  with  angels  live.” 

“ I think,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  taking  his  coffee, 
and  throwing  himself  on  a divan,  near  Lady  Geor- 
giana, “ we  all  appear  to  be  buried  in  the  tomb  of  the 
Capulets.  I had  no  idea  the  divine  Marchesa  meant 
to  consign  us  all  to  such  immortal  dulness.  We  are 
already  almost  reduced  aux  muets  interpretes , and 
shall  gradually  fall  into  the  eloquent  silence  of  that 
round-eyed,  tongue-tied  Lady  Clancare,  who,  par 
parenthese , looks  as  if  she  were  extracting  us  all  for 
her  common-place  book,  and  will  doubtless  bring  us 
out  in  hot-press,  sans  dire  gar  /” 

“ I doubt  she  will  ever  bring  out  anything  half  so 
good,”  said  Conway  Crawley  ; “ as  yet  that  is  not  in 
her  line;  she  has  had  too  few  opportunities  of 
studying  fashionable  life  to  attempt  anything  in  that 


464 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


way.  Her  position  here,  at  least,  is  so  extremely  ob- 
scure, that  I believe  the  castle  of  Dunore  is  the  first 
fine  house  in  the  country  into  which  she  was  ever  ad- 
mitted.” 

“ And,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  smiling,  and  in  spite  of 
her  former  discomfiture  unable  to  contain  her  acri- 
monious spirit,  “ and  perhaps  it  may  be  her  last.” 

“ Her  principles,”  continued  young  Crawley,  “ as 
disseminated  in  her  ‘ National  Tales,’  as  she  calls 
them,  are  sufficient  to  keep  her  out  of  good  society 
here.” 

“ I thought  I had  heard  you  say,  Mr.  Crawley,” 
observed  Mr.  Daly,  “ that  you  did  not  know  Lady 
Clancare  was  an  author  ?” 

“ I did  not  till  this  morning,”  said  Crawley,  a little 
confused.  “ When  Lady  Dunore  mentioned  the  titles 
of  her  works,  and  the  initials  representing  the 
author’s  name,  I recollected  having  looked  over  those 
tomes  of  absurdity  and  vagueness,  of  daring  blas- 
phemy, of  affectation,  of  bad  taste,  bombast,  and  non- 
sense, blunders,  ignorance,  jacobinism,  falsehood, 
licentiousness,  and  impiety,  which  it  now  seems  are 
the  effusions  of  the  pseudo  Lady  Clancare.” 

Young  Crawley,  already  flushed  with  wine,  grew 
still  more  red  with  rage  as  he  spoke. 

“ Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Crawley,”  interrupted  Lord 
Frederick,  with  unusual  vivacity,  “ say  no  more,  or 
you  will  make  us  in  love  with  the  author  and  her 
work  together ; for,  really,  a book  that  could  com- 
bine all  these  terrific  heterogeneous  qualities,  and  yet 
be  read,  must  be  very  extraordinary  : pour  le  moins .” 
“ Very  extraordinary  indeed,”  said  Mr.  Daly,  “ con- 
sidering that  with  all  these  vices  and  faults  they  have 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


465 


been  so  read,  and  bought,  as  to  realize  an  inde- 
pendence for  their  author,  and  enable  her  to  carry  on 
a suit  which  has  deprived  the  elder  Mr.  Crawley  of 
his  dear  Clottnottyjoy.  It  would  at  least  appear  that, 
in  spite  of  professional  criticism,  the  public  are  al- 
ways with  her.” 

“ Oh,  her  flippant  and  arrogant  ignorance  has  its 
market,”  returned  Conway  Crawdey,  “ and  the 
sylphed  Miss  Macarthy,  the  elegant  Lady  Clancare, 
is,  in  fact,  a mere  bookseller’s  drudge.  Her  impu- 
dent falsehoods,  and  lies  by  implication,  the  impious 
jargon  of  this  mad  woman,  this  audacious  worm ” 

“ Are  you  speaking  of  Lady  Clancare,  sir  ?”  said 
General  Fitzwalter,  who  had  been  talking  to  Lord 
Adelm,  but  who  now  turned  shortly  round  on  young 
Crawley  with  a tone  and  look  that  stunned  the 
hardy  railer ; “ are  you  applying  such  language  to  a 
woman — to  any  woman  ?” 

“ I — I — -I  was  speaking,  sir,”  said  young  Crawley, 
nearly  sobered  at  once,  and  growing  pale  at  this  ad- 
dress, “ that  is,  I was  repeating  the  criticism  of  a 
celebrated  periodical  review,  which  may,  perhaps,  be 
deemed  severe,  but  which  is  edited  by  men  of  the 
most — — ” 

“ Men  ! do  you  call  them,”  said  General  Fitzwalter, 
with  a sharp,  contemptuous  laugh,  and  turning  on  his 
heel.  “ Men,  indeed  i” 

A momentary  silence  ensued.  The  indignant  con- 
tempt with  which  General  Fitzwalter  had  fixed  his 
eyes  on  Crawley  was  observed  by  all.  Crawley  was 
physically  timid;  he  shrunk  back,  and  took  up  a 
book ; Miss  Craw  ley  changed  color ; and  at  that  mo- 
ment the  marchioness  entered,  leaning  on  Lady  Clan- 


466 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


care’s  arm.  They  were  both  wrapped  in  their  shawls ; 
and  the  freshness  of  the  evening  air,  and  the  deep 
coloring  of  exercise,  gave  a vivid  brightness  to  their 
complexions. 

“ We  have  had  a delicious  walk  of  some  miles ; 
two  or  three,  I believe,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  sinking 
into  a chair,  and  calling  for  coffee ; while  Lady  Clan- 
care  modestly  took  her  seat  rather  behind  than  be- 
side, so  as  just  to  raise  her  face  over  the  back  of 
Lady  Dunore’s  chair,  in  a position  equally  shy  and 
observing.  For  a moment  she  attracted  every  eye, 
and  all  sought  to  trace  in  her  countenance  some  indi- 
cation of  the  audacious,  lying,  profligate,  ignorant 
and  pretending  jacobin. 

“ There  is  nothing,  after  all,”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
gradually  unmuffling  herself,  “ like  the  security,  and 
moonlight,  and  things  of  that  kind,  of  Ireland.  I am 
so  in  love  with  my  Irish  solitudes,  that  I am  not  cer- 
tain I shall  not  remain  here  through  the  winter.” 

“ Then,  marchioness  of  my  affections,”  said  Lord 
Frederick,  “ I must  beg  my  bouquet  d ’ adieu ; for 
though  I agree  in  the  old  sentimental  tag  of  La  soli- 
tude est  une  belle  chose , yet — — ” 

“ Oh,  sweet  love,”  interrupted  Lady  Georgiana, 
who,  as  well  as  Lord  Frederick,  had  her  reasons  for 
disliking  the  extreme  smallness  of  the  petit  comite , in 
which  they  had  lived  at  Dunore,  and  which  placed 
every  one  so  constantly  before  the  eyes  of  the  others 
— “oh,  sweet  love,  you  have  no  idea  what  an  ex- 
cellent society  you  have  about  you,  if  you  would  but 
let  in  the  Aborigines . Miss  Crawley  has  been  amus- 
ing me  this  evening  with  a description  of  your  neigh- 
bors for  twenty  miles  round.  I dare  say  they  would 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


467 


amuse  you  greatly.  Now  do,  Miss  Crawley,  pray 
show  your  list  to  Lady  D.  Miss  Crawley  has  made 
out  a list  for  you,  Ma  Heine 

n Oh,  you  may  let  in  who  you  like,”  said  Lady  Du- 
nore : “ I shall  not  in  the  least  object,  if  there  are 
cups  and  saucers  and  things  for  the  Irish  ladies,  who 
are  monstrously  particular,  I hear;  and  provided 
they  won’t  expect  me  to  go  to  them  in  return,  they 
may  come  and  welcome.  Who  shall  we  have  ? Who 
shall  we  let  in,  Lady  Clancare  ? Who  is  there  really 
presentable  and  amusing  ? But  mind,  I won’t  have 
any  circulars  ; I won’t  have  those  Chinese  hiero- 
glyphics, with  their  tails  in  their  mouths,  that  is  the 
serpents — what  is  it,  Lord  Frederick,  about  eternity, 
you  know,  and  the  Chinese  mandarin?  You  have 
no  idea  how  that  word  1 eternity7  ennuies  me.  Now 
come,  Lady  Clancare,  do  speak : who  shall  we  have  ? 
Is  there  no  one  at  Balbec,  at  Ballydab  I mean  ?” 

The  Crawleys  laughed  (aside),  but  were  yet  heard 
and  seen  by  all,  Lady  Dunore  excepted,  who  was 
now  arranging  her  dishevelled  hair  at  a mirror  over 
the  chimney-piece. 

“ I should  like  to  make  you,  dear  Lady  Clancare, 
my  returning  officer,  as  old  Mr.  Crawley  says  of  the 
electioneering  business.  Now  who  shall  we  have  ?” 
and  she  resumed  her  seat. 

Lady  Clancare  begged,  in  her  low  soft  voice,  to 
have  the  office  assigned  to  Miss  Crawley,  who  was  so  ♦ 
much  better  known  in  the  neighborhood. 

“ Oh,  dear ! no,  ma’am,”  minced  Miss  Crawley  : “ I 
could  not  think  of  obtruding  on  your  ladyship’s  pro- 
vince.” 

“ Now  pray  do  as  Lady  Clancare  desires  you,  Miss 


468 


FLORENCE  MACARTHYa 


Crawley,”  said  Lady  Dunore  with  her  usual  income * 
quent  and  peremptory  tone.  “ Rosbrin,  draw  the 
writing-table  near  me:  you  shall  be  secretary  to  the 
committee ; you  shall  name  the  persons,  Miss  Craw- 
ley ; and  then  we’ll  talk  them  over,  and  elect  accord- 
ingly.” 

Miss  Crawley  now  advanced  in  implicit  obedience 
to  the  commanding  fiat  of  her  future  neophyte, 
Every  one  gathered  round  the  table  placed  before 
Lady  Dunore,  except  General  Fitzwalter  and  Lord 
Adelm.  The  one  stood  aloof,  looking  partly  in  curi- 
osity, and  partly,  perhaps,  in  contempt,  on  this  group 
of  grown  children;  the  other  was  stretched  upon  a 
sofa, -occupying  a recess  window,  and  partly  shadowed 
by  its  drapery. 

“ Let  us  see,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  taking  a paper 
out  of  Miss  Crawley’s  hand,  on  which  she  had  written 
some  names.  “ Who  is  this  ? Lady  Lisson ! Who 
is  she,  Miss  Crawley  ?” 

“ She  is  a young  widow  lady,  madam,  of  large  for- 
tune. They  say  she  has  more  diamonds  than  the 
queen ; and  is  niece  to  our  bishop,  with  whom  she  is 
now  on  a visit.” 

“ Do  you  know  anything  of  her,  Lady  Clancare  ?” 
said  the  marchioness,  turning  coolly  to  her  “ Cynthia 
of  the  minute,” 

“ I have  seen  her,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  in  her 
wonted  tone  and  look  of  real  or  affected  simplicity. 

“ Is  she  presentable  ? What  is  she  like  ?” 

“ Like  ?”  said  Lady  Clancare,  as  if  searching  for 
some  object  of  comparison—' “ like  a diamond  beetle 
—small,  shining,  and  insignificant.  You  would  find 
her  tiresome  for  anything  exclusive,  but  she  might 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


469 


answer  for  a ball — you  might  ask  her  to  that,  on  the 
strength  of  her  diamond  necklace ; it  helps  to  dress  a 
room.” 

This  was  the  first  sentence  Lady  Clancare  had  ut- 
tered aloud  since  her  introduction  at  the  castle ; and 
its  oddity,  contrasted  to  her  timid  look,  had  its  due 
effect. 

“ Oh ! put  her  down,  by  all  means,  Rosbrin,”  cried 
Lord  Frederick,  laughing.  “ Down  with  the  diamond 
* beetle,  with  a ‘ N.  B.  The  necklace  to  be  included  in 
the  invitation.’  ” 

“And  who  is  this,  my  dear  Miss  Crawley  ? You 
write  such  a very  pretty,  precise,  cramped  hand — oh ! 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wiggins,  of  Fort  Wiggins.  That  sounds 
bad,”  added  Lady  Dunore,  shaking  her  head. 

“ However  it  may  sound,  madam,”  said  Miss  Craw- 
ley, a little  piqued,  and  resolved  not  to  be  worsted 
by  Lady  Clancare— “ however  it  may  sound,  Mr. 
Wiggins  holds  a distinguished  office  of  trust  under 
government ; and  Mrs.  Wiggins  is  supposed  to  have 
more  titles  at  her  parties  than  any  one,  except  Lady 
Kilgobbin.” 

“ I wish  somebody  would  kill  Lady  Kilgobbin,” 
said  Lady  Dunore,  “ for  I am  sick  of  her  name.  I 
suppose  if  these  Wiggins  people  are  government  folk, 
we  must  have  them.  But  I hope  your  Mrs.  Wiggins 
is  not  a quiz,  Miss  Crawley.  Do  you  know  her,  Lady 
Clancare  ?” 

“ I saw  her  in  Dublin,  madam,  at  a few  assemblies.” 

“And  what  is  she  like?  Now  do  throw  her  off 
for  us,  a trait  de  plume.  Now  pray  what  is  she  like  ?” 

“ Like — like  a scarlet  flamingo,  lean  and  lank,  all 
legs  and  neck,  in  an  eternal  red  velvet  gown.” 


470 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ I’ll  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  flamingo,  my 
dear  Miss  Crawley.  The  eternal  red  gown  would 
destroy  me  in  two  nights.  I cut  the  flamingo  and 
the  velvet  gown,  positively,  legs,  neck,  and  all.” 

“No,  no,”  interrupted  Lord  Frederick,  “the  fla- 
mingo must  go  in  with  the  beetle.  Only  conceive  ‘ 
you  will  stand  here  like  your  mother  Eve,  surrounded 
by  all  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  beasts  of  the  field. 
Rosbrin,  down  with  the  flamingo,  as  a pendant  for 
the  beetle ; they  are  charming ; and  here  is,”  he  added, 
looking  over  Lady  Dunore’s  shoulder,  “ here  is  Mrs. 
Randal  Royston — delicious  name ! and  the  three  Miss 
Roystons.” 

“ There  were  originally  seven  Miss  Roystons,  with 
seven  China  oranges,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  with  kin- 
dling spirits,  and  now  evidently  piquee  au  jeu , “ but 
Mrs.  Randal  has  married,  or  rather  lunched  off  four.” 

“ Lunched  olf!  Good  God,  how  good !”  said  Lady 
Dunore,  laughing ; “ but  how  lunched  off,  my  dear 
Lady  Clancare  ?” 

“ Why,  when  maternal  speculation,  with  balls,  din- 
ners, and  suppers,  wholly  failed,  Mrs.  Royston  adver- 
tised sandwiches  to  morning  saunterers,  and  got  rid 
of  her  W estphalia  hams  and  her  marriageable  daugh- 
ters together.” 

Everybody  laughed,  Miss  Crawley  made  an  effort 
to  speak,  but  was  overpowered  by  the  loud,  shrill 
voice  of  Lady  Dunore. 

“ Here,  read  on,  Lord  Frederick : do  you  read. 
This  is  too  amusing.” 

“ Here  is,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  “ General  and  Mrs . 
General  Jenkins.” 

“ But  not  the  general  Mrs.  Jenkins,”  said  Lady 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


471 


Clancare,  “not  the  general  Mrs.  Jenkins  ; on  the  con- 
trary, she  is  the  exclusive  Mrs.  Jenkins,  one  who  dis- 
criminates by  the  indices  of  the  Red  Book,  estimates 
qualities  by  the  nobs  on  coronets,  and  ranges  all  worth 
and  talent  under  the  privilege  of  walking  at  a corona- 
tion ; for  the  rest,  she  is  fussy,  fidgety,  and  fretful, 
but  useful  in  getting  up  balls,  to  extract  names  from 
a porter’s  book ; and  might  herself  pass  the  muster- 
roll  of  gentility  unnoticed,  but  for  her  idears,  winders, 
Mariars,  Mirandars,  and  all  the  whole  race  of  r’s  in 
the  cockney  vocabulary  of  Bow-bell.” 

“ Now,  Lady  Dunore,”  interrupted  Miss  Crawley, 
more  annoyed  at  the  amusement  Lady  Clancare  was 
exciting  than  by  the  abuse  of  Mrs.  General  Jenkins, 
“ now  I must  observe  to  you  that  this  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
the  object  of  Lady  Clancare’s  ridicule,  happens  to  be 
her  own  friend  ; and  if  her  ladyship  ridicules  her  own 
particular  friends ” 

“ My  own  particular  friends  !”  said  Lady  Clancare, 
gravely ; “ and  if  I don’t  laugh  at  my  own  friends, 
whose  friends  can  I take  the  liberty  of  laughing  at, 
Miss  Crawley  ?” 

“ Really,  madam,”  said  Miss  Crawley,  sneering,  “ I 
at  least  do  not  see  the  necessity ” 

“ Necessity  ! Oh,  pardon  me, — the  necessity  is  ob- 
vious, inevitable,  plus  fort  que  moi)  and  does  not  leave 
a shadow  of  free  will  in  the  case.” 

“ My  aunt,  madam,”  said  young  Crawley,  “ must 
decline  all  logical  disquisition  with  you  on  necessity 
and  free  will.  She  is  not  quite  so  learned  in  meta- 
physics, and  does  not  advertise  her  study  of  Locke 
for  the  benefit  of  the  public.  I believe,  and  hope, 
indeed,  she  never  read  him.” 


472 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ Did  not  she  ?”  asked  Lady  Clancare.  “ Then  she 
must  not  speak  of  him,  Mr.  Crawley : for  there’s  no 
getting  at  Locke  by  deputy.  There  is  no  quartering 
review  of  him ! no  opinions  to  be  picked  up  at  second 
hand,  no  cut-and-dry  criticisms,  neat,  compact,  and 
portable,  made  up  in  small  parcels,  and  ready  for  im- 
mediate use,  as  soon  as  delivered  to  the  purchaser— 
you  understand,  Mr.  Crawley.  But,”  she  added,  with 
a total  change  of  countenance  and  manner,  and  a sort 
of  fondling  voice,  opposed  to  the  sharp  acute  accent 
she  had  first  spoke  in,  “ you  must  not  believe,  my 
dear  Lady  Dunore,  that  I am  the  ‘ ingrate  and  cam 
kered  Bolingbroke.’  ” 

“ Henry  Fourth,  act  first,  scene  third,”  observed 
Lord  Rosbrin,  raising  his  eyes  from  his  list  to  Lady 
Clancare’s  face,  with  pleasure  and  surprise. 

“ I am  not,”  she  continued,  following  up  her  blow 
on  the  heart  of  Lord  Rosbrin,  and  on  the  temper  of 
the  Crawleys  at  the  same  moment — “ I am  not  guilty 
of  this  1 ungrateful  injury,’  as  Coriolanus  has  it,  against 
Mrs.  General  Jenkins. ^She  is  not  my  friend:  judge 
if  she  merits  that  name.  On  my  coming  down  to  this 
country,  some  two  years  back,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  herself 
then  a stranger,  came  to  visit  me,  on  the  strength  of 
my  title,  and  did  not  get  into  my  ruined  towers,  to 
! view  the  nakedness  of  the  land ; so  she  sent  me  an 
invitation  to  her  house.  I went,  pour  voir  ce  que  cela 
devienclra , and  accompanied  her  to  an  assize-ball 
where  she  suddenly  dropped  me ; for,  having  found 
out  that  I was  but  a pauper  peeress,  and  fitter  for  the 
parish  books  than  the  red  bench,  she  charitably  con- 
signed me  to  my  destiny,  and  now  meets,  stares  at, 
and  passes  me ; while  I,  with  my  4 good  den,  Sir 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


473 


Richard,’  am  answered  with,  a 1 gad  have  mercy,  fel- 
low.’ But  I advise  you  to  ask  her  to  your  files, 
whenever  you  give  any  ; for  she  twines  holly  and  ivy 
wreaths  for  garlanding  the  walls,  cuts  flowers  out  of 
turnips  and  carrots  for  ornamenting  supper-tables, 
and  has  a recipe  for  making  very  tolerable  lemonade, 
without  the  expensive  addition  of  lemons,” 

“ No,  no;  no  Mrs.  General  Jenkins,”  was  the  gene- 
ral  cry:  while  Lady  Duriore,  equally  delighted  with 
the  amusing  powers  of  the  awakened  Lady  Clancare, 
as  with  the  discomfiture  of  her  ex-favorites,  the 
Crawleys,  who,  it  was  evident,  were  gradually  losing 
ground  in  her  changeable  opinion,  cried  out  louder 
than  all,  “ Go  on,  go  on,  Lord  Frederick.  Who  have 
we  next?  Now,  Lady  Clancare.” 

“Mrs.  Wilkinson,”  pronounced  emphatically  Lord 
Frederick. 

“ A great  favorite  of  our  late  lord  lieutenant,”  said 
Mr.  Pottinger,  who  was  on  the  Crawley  side,  “ quite 
a beauty  in  the  grand  style.” 

“ Yes,”,  said  Lady  Clancare,  laughing,  “ a very 
Mammoth  of  loveliness,  ponderously  pretty,  with  no 
more  joints  than  an  elephant,  quite  as  heavy,  and  as 
mischievous  withal ; for  she’ll  tread  the  nap  off  your 
carpet,  while  she  talks  down  the  character  of  your 
friends,  and  never  moves  or  breathes  but  to  injure.” 

“ Yet,  for  all  that,”  said  Lord  Frederick,  “ we  must 
have  the  elephant  to  complete  the  menagerie.  Put 
her- down,  Rosbrin,  with  the  beetle  and  the  flamingo; 
so,— here  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twiggle,  too  : I like  the 
name — -it  bodes  well.” 

“ Mr.  Twiggle  is  one  of  our  great  Irish  financiers,” 
interrupted  Miss  Crawley,  endeavoring  to  get  the 


474 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


pas : “ for  our  rich  army  agents  here  answer  to  the 
financiers  of  France,  as  described  by  Marmontel  in  his 
sweetly-written  Memoirs.” 

“ I shall  say  nothing  of  the  army  agents,”  said  Lady 
Clancare,  “ till  there’s  a peace.” 

“ Scrub  ! hem  !”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  chuckling. 

“ Peace  or  war,”  said  young  Crawley,  much  irri- 
tated, “ the  Twiggies  must  always  hold  a situation  of 
trust  and  emolument.  The  government  will  always 
take  care  of  them ; and  as  to  Mrs.  Twiggle,  she  is  a 
woman  of  first-rate  abilities,  one  of  the  best  critics, 
and  one  of  the  most  eloquent  persons  I ever  listened 
to.  She  has  indeed  none  of  that  flippant  smartness, 
which  is  rather  the  pertness  of  pretension  than  the 
ebullition  of  genuine  ability ; but  she  has  a flow  of 
language— 

“ Flow,  do  you  call  it  ?”  said  Lady  Clancare  in  sur- 
prise : “ a flow !— a flood,  that  carries  down  with  it 
all  sorts  of  rubbish.  In  fact,  the  eloquent  Mrs.  Twig- 
gle is  not  ill-represented  by  a long-necked  bottle, 
shallow  and  noisy.  My  dear  Lady  Dunore,  you 
would  die  of  it.  A windmill  is  a hermitage  to  the 
neighborhood  of  the  eloquent  Mrs.  Twiggle.” 

“ Away  with  her,  away  with  her  !”  cried  Lord  Ros- 
brin, theatrically.  “No  Twiggle,”  wras  the  general 
cry ; while  young  Crawley,  without  temper  or  taste 
to  enter  into  this  idle  playfulness,  without  art  or 
talent  to  counteract  the  growing  popularity  of  Lady 
Clancare,  rudely  snatched  up  the  paper  from  Lord 
Rosbrin,  and  said  in  a tone  of  great  irritation,  “ I 
believe,  Lady  Dunore,  my  aunt  will  rather  decline 
giving  any  further  assistance  on  this  occasion.  For, 
as  she  happens  to  know  and  visit  all  the  persons  of 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


475 


distinction  who  inhabit  this  neighborhood,  it  is  rather 
mortifying  to  her  to  hear  calumnies  launched  against 
all  the  leading  gentry  and  principal  people  of  the 
province.” 

“ Calumny !”  reiterated  Lady  Clancare,  with  mock 
solemnity,  and  solemnly  spreading  her  little  hand  on 
her  bosom,  “ I deny  the  accusation.  I deny  that  the 
Lissons,  and  Wiggins,  and  Jenkins,  and  Roystons, 
and  Twiggies,  are  the  gentry  of  the  province. 
Though  some  be  nieces  of  embarrassed  English  cler- 
gymen, suddenly  become  Irish  bishops,  though  they 
be  placemen,  and  pensioners,  and  army  agents,  and 
revenue  commissioners,  yet  their  names  were  unheard 
of  in  this  country  a few  years  back ; and  I therefore 
deny  that  they  are  the  genuine  nobility  and  gentry 
of  this  country.  My  dear  Lady  Dunore,  if  you  would 
invite  only  the  Irish  aristocracy  to  your  castle,  you 
must  deliver  your  cards  to  king’s  messengers,  and 
send  your  invitations  to  every  court  in  Europe,  ex- 
cept our  own,  where  alone  the  Irish  nobility  are  not 
to  be  found.  But  if  the  true  gentry  of  the  country 
will  satisfy  you,  the  descendants  of  her  brave  chiefs 
and  princes,  the  O’s  and  the  Macs,  there  is  no  pro- 
vince in  Ireland  can  furnish  a more  national  or  delight- 
ful circle  than  Munster.  I promise  you  you  will  be 
delighted  with  them.  You  will,  perhaps,  find  more 
brogue  and  bows  than  you  would  meet  with  in  your 
English  assemblies ; but  you  will  also  find  something 
of  the  refined  courtesy  and  gay  spirit  of  the  Irish 
cavalier.  They  are  prompt,  indeed,  to  suspect  slight, 
but  they  are  ardent  to  repay  kindness ; for,  like  the 
Irish  wolf-dog,  the  Irish  people  are  devoted  when  ca- 
ressed, and  fierce  only  when  provoked.  I propose 


476 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


then,  in  this  great  election  for  the  independent  bor- 
ough of  your  ladyship’s  favor,  the  O’s  and  the  Macs 
as  worthy  candidates.” 

“ I second  the  motion,”  cried  Lord  Frederick. 

The  O’s  and  the  Macs  echoed  on  every  side,  while 
Lord  Rosbrin,  flourishing  his  handkerchief,  cried  out, 
“a  Mug,  a Mug,  a Mug  !”# 

Lady  Dunore,  delighted  with  the  noise,  because 
noise  always  delighted  her — charmed  by  the  transi- 
tion in  Lady  Clancare’s  manner,  because  all  transitions 
gave  her  sensation — and  gratified  by  the  amusement 
it  had,  and  still  might  afford  her,  embraced  her  new 
favorite  a la  francaise  and  cried  out : 

“ You  are  quite  charming.  I told  you  how  popular 
you  would  become,  whenever  you  would  shake  off 
your  mauvaise  ho  ate.  You  shall  ask  whom  you  like 
to  the  castle,  and  nobody  but  whom  you  like ; for  I 
now  constitute  you  the  mistress  of  the  revels  of 
Dunore.” 

“Do  you?”  said  Lady  Clancare,  with  vivacity; 
“ then  I’ll  make  the  1 welkin  dance,’  or  at  least  Clot- 
nottyjoy ; and  if  I could  find  out  a copartner  in  my 
labors,  I would  get  up  a series  of  festivities  that 
should  last  out  your  banishment  here.  We  would 
perform  a masque  for  the  amusement  of  the  nobles 
of  the  castle,  as  in  the  older  times ; we  would  have 
the  most  lamentable  comedy  and  cruel  death  of  Fy- 
ramus  and  Thisbe;”  and  her  countenance  now  as- 
sumed the  dull  stupidity  of  Peter  Quince;  “or  we 
would  try ” 

Lord  Rosbrin,  as  if  touched  by  an  electric  spark, 
here  interrupted  her  with  the  rejoinder  of  Bully  Bot- 
* Mayor  of  Garret. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


477 


tarn,  “ a very  good  piece  of  work,  and  a merry — ” 
Then  taking  her  hand,  to  the  amusement  of  all,  he 
added,  with  great  gravity  : 

“ Come,  my  queen;  in  silence  sad, 

Trip  we  after  the  night  shade. 

We  the  globe  can  compass  soon, 

Swifter  than  the  wand’ring  moon  j”  l 

while  she  replied  significantly : 

“ Come,  my  lord,  and  in  our  flight 
Tell  me  how  it  came  this  night, 

That  I sleeping  here  was  found 
By  these  mortals.” 

“ Sleeping  indeed  !”  said  Lady  Dunore  ; “ but  you 
have  awakened  us  all  now,  I trust.” 

“ Macbeth  hath  murdered  sleep,”  added  Lord  Ros- 
brin.  “ But  what  mirth,  what  revelry  shall  we  begin 
with  ?” 

“A  mask  presented  at  Ludlow  Castle,  1634,  on 
Michaelmas  night,  before  the  Right  Honorable  John 
Earl  of  Bridgewater,  Lord  President  of  Wales,  called 
Comus,”  said  Lady  Ciancare,  looking  at  Lord  Rosbrin, 
who  replied,  fluttering  about  in  an  ecstasy  : 

“ Music  by  Henry  Lawes.  Here  we’ll  cast  it  forth- 
with and  he  dropped  on  his  knees  and  seized  the 
pen.  “ What  are  the  characters  ? I have  not  looked 
into  Comus  these  six  months.” 

“ There  is  the  elder  brother,”  said  Lady  Ciancare, 
dictating  gravely — “ General  Fitz waiter ; younger 
brother,  Lord  Adelm ; the  lady,  by  Lady  Georgiana ; 
Comus,  your  lordship  ; the  Crew,  Mr.  and  Miss  Craw- 
ley, Mr.  Pottinger,  &c.” 

“And  Euphrosyne,  Lady  Ciancare,”  said  Lord 
Rosbrin. 


478 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“Now  then,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  with  all  the 
spirit  and  sportiveness  of  the  character  assigned  to 
her, 

“ Welcome  song  and  welcome  jest, 

Midnight  shout  and  revelry, 

Tipsy  dance  and  jollity.  i 

Braid  your  locks  with  rosy  twine, 

Dropping  odors,  dropping  wine.” 

“ Brava  ! brava !”  re-echoed  on  every  side. 

“ For  the  audience,”  she  continued,  “ Lady  Bridge- 
water,  seated  under  a canopy,  and  dressed  in  the  old 
English  habit,  shall  be  represented  by  the  Marchio- 
ness.” 

4 1 have  one,”  interrupted  Lady  Dunore,  “ made 
for  the  last  opera  masquerade.” 

“ The  Lord  President  will  be  admirably  done  by 
Mr.  Daly ; and  the  O’s  and  the  Macs  will  look  stately 
and  quaint  in  the  boxes ; while  the  Wiggins,  and 
Twiggies,  and  Roystons,  1 will  fill  a pit  as  well  as 
better  men.’  ” 

“ To  be  sure  they  will,”  said  Lady  Dunore ; “ we’ll 
parade  them  all  on  the  occasion ; and  that  won’t  be 
the  least  part  of  the  fun.” 

“We  must  have  an  afterpiece,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin, 
gravely,  and  in  a thoughtful  attitude. 

“ Let  it  be  something  Spanish,”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
“ in  compliment  to  General  Fitzwalter.” 

General  Fitzwalter  was  leaning  over  the  back  of  a 
chair,  pursuing  the  variations  of  Lady  Clancare. 

He  started  at  this  application  to  his  amour  propre , 
and  bowed  slightly,  and  in  some  confusion,  while 
Lady  Dunore,  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  him,  whispered 
something  in  Lady  Clancare’s  ear,  who  blushed,  threw* 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY.  479 

down  her  eyes,  and  shook  her  head  incredulously. 
This  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  observed  a mys- 
terious communication  between  these  two  ladies,  of 
which  he  was  evidently  the  object,  but  he  had  never 
been  struck  so  forcibly  as  now,  for  the  deep  blush  of 
Lady  Claficare  gave  it  no  trifling  effect. 

In  the  meantime  Lord  Rosbrin,  puzzling  his  head 
for  a Spanish- American  piece,  could  think  of  nothing 
but  Pizarro,  which  it  was  impossible  to  cut  down  into 
a farce ; and  so,  as  a succedaneum,  he  proposed  the 
Spanish  farce  of  the  Padlock,  in  which  Lady  Clancare 
offered  to  play  Mungo  to  his  Leander,  except  Mr. 
Heneage  had  a preference  for  that  part.  Mr.  Hene- 
age  declared  that  he  would  not  blacken  his  face  for 
any  earthly  consideration;  and  Lord  Rosbrin  ob- 
served he  should  much  like  to  try  his  talent  at  singing, 
but  that  he  had  no  wooden  leg  among  his  properties 
for  Leander.  Lady  Clancare  suggested  that  the 
wooden  leg  was  a worn  out  commonplace ; that  tying 
up  the  limb  in  a handsome  blue  scarf  would  be  a new 
reading ; and  that,  with  the  help  of  a cane,  he  would 
manage  it  admirably. 

“ Exactly,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  charmed  with  the 
idea  of  a new  reading : “ such  a scarf  as  this,”  and 
he  took  one  off  Miss  Crawley’s  shoulders.  “ Here, 
Heneage,  lend  me  your  arm.  How,  Pottinger,  fasten 
this  round  my  ankle,  so ; and  then  round  my  neck, 
so.  Thank  you,  Lady  Clancare,  for  your  assistance  ; 
how  well  you  understand  these  things  ! that’s  a little 
too  tight,  though ; not  quite  so  many  knots.  Oh,  the 
devil!  your  ladyship’s  tying  my  heel  to  my  head. 
Stay,  I’ll  try  a few  bars  of  the  serenade : 

‘ Oh  thou  whose  charms  have  won  my  heart.’ 


480  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 

Confusion ! this  is  torture.  I — I — ” and  suddenly 
seized  with  the  cramp,  Lord  Rosbrin  now  fell  to  the 
ground,  almost  screaming  with  pain  and  crying,  “ By 
Jupiter!  I have  got  the  most  intolerable  cramp; 
loose  me,  for  pity’s  sake,  or  I shall  die  of  it.” 

Every  one  now  hastened  to  relieve  him,  but  Lady 
Clanoare’s  nimble  fingers  had  tied  a Gordian  knot ; 
no  one  could  loosen  it.  Lord  Rosbrin  roared,  and 
Mr.  Daly  at  last  cut  boldly  what  could  not  be  untied. 
Everybody  laughed,  as  if  the  sufferings  of  the  noble 
ameteur  were  “ sport  for  ladies.”  Miss  Crawley  re- 
ceived back  her  mangled  scarf  with  a look  of  vexa- 
tion and  dismay.  Lady  Dunore,  equally  amused  by 
the  sufferings  of  one  friend,  the  annoyance  of  the 
other,  and  the  espieglerie  of  the  third,  turned  round, 
after  a fit  of  laughter  that  brought  tears  to  her  eyes, 
to  reproach  Lady  Clancare  for  no",  assisting  at  a 
denouement  she  had  rendered  so  difficult  to  effect,  but 
— she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XYH. 


But  yet  I say, 

If  imputation  and  strong  circumstance, 

Which  lead  directly  to  the  door  of  truth, 

Will  give  you  satisfaction,  you  may  have  it. 

SlIAKSPEARE. 

General  Fitzwalter  retired  early  from  the  circle 
at  the  castle,  and  was  passing  rapidly  through  the 
hall  to  his  carriage,  when  the  figure  of  Lord  Adelm 
caught  his  attention,  moving  under  the  projecting 
corridor,  and  tearing  some  paper  in  a thousand 
pieces,  which  he  had  trampled  under  his  feet.  His 
countenance  was  marked  by  strong  traces  of  passion, 
and  his  obvious  confusion  and  embarrassment,  when 
his  eyes  met  Fitzwalter,  almost  tempted  the  latter  to 
pass  on  without  addressing  him : suddenly,  however, 
turning  back  upon  his  steps,  under  the  influence  of  a 
prompt  and  ardent  sympathy,  as  easily  excited  as  it 
was  uncontrollable,  he  demanded  : 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? You  appear  to  suffer.  Has 
anything  happened  to  annoy  you  ?” 

“ Annoy  me,  indeed!”  he  repeated,  while  the 
general  took  his  arm,  and  walked  for  a minute  in 
silence  by  his  side, 

“ What  can  have  occurred  within  the  last  hour, 
when  I saw  you  smiling  in  mockery  at  the  buffoon, 
Lord  Rosbrin  ? Fancies,  not  facts,  I trust  : for  I 


482 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


would  rather  believe  your  nymph  had  discovered 
herself,  and  so  dispelled  your  illusions,  than ” 

“ Discovered  herself  with  a vengeance!  she  has 
discovered  herself.”  s 

“ Ha ! has  she  so  ?” 

“ Oh ! with  a frankness  perfectly  original.  For, 
with  an  ingenuous  confession,  that  she  has  made  my 
vanity  and  credulity  the  dupes  of  her  devices,  and  the 
instruments  of  her  own  views,  she  absolves  me  from 
her  spells,  restores  me  to  my  freedom  of  agency,  re- 
leases me  from  leading-strings,  and  with  a mysterious 
allusion  to  the  convent  of  Nuestra  Senora  de  las 
Angustias,  the  ruins  of  the  Holycross,  and  my  visit 
to  Court  Fitzadelm,  she  signs  herself  mine  au  revoir , 
Mary  Magillicuddy.  And  thus,”  he  added,  tearing 
to  atoms  the  fragments  of  the  letter  he  still  held — 
“ thus  ends  a dream  I would  not  have  exchanged  for 
any  good  real  life  could  have  bestowed.” 

“ I’m  glad  of  it,”  replied  the  general,  emphatically ; 
and  there  was  a beaming  satisfaction  in  his  animated 
countenance  that  ratified  the  assurance,  as  if  he  was 
himself  relieved  from  some  unpleasant  conjecture 
which  weighed  heavily  on  his  mind.  “ All  mystery 
is  bad,”  he  added ; “ you  will  now  be  restored  to 
yourself.  Passion,  genuine  and  correspondent  to 
your  age  and  character,  will  succeed  to  distempered 
fancies,  realities  to  visions,  and  the  heart  wTill  act 
where  the  imagination  has  so  long  exclusively  oper- 
ated.” 

“You  think,  then,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  “that  I am 
to  rest  here,  to  return  solemn  thanks  for  my  delivery, 
and  to  sit  down  quietly  in  the  pleasant  conviction  of 
having  been  the  dupe  of  some  idle  or  wilful  person, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


483 


who  construes  the  enthusiasm  and  elevation  of  my 
character  into  vanity  and  credulity,  and  insolently 
laughs  at  the  simplicity  with  which  I have  submitted 
to  the  imposition.  No,  by  all  my  hopes,  time,  acci- 
dent, or  perseverance  in  the  research,  must  yet  dis- 
cover this  arrogant  unknown.  If  it  be  a man,  the 
result  is  obvious,  and  if  a woman — ” He  clenched 
his  hands,  and  ground  his  teeth.  “ To  be  revenged, 
I would  pursue  her  under  every  form,  device,  and 
stratagem,  that  could  woo  and  win  ; to  punish,  I 
would  even  marry  her,  and  thus  make  her  future  life 
the  slow- working  expiation  of  her  momentary  inso- 
lence.” 

Either  the  general  saw  the  folly  of  contending  with 
the  first  burst  of  suffering  of  wounded  self-love,  or 
his  own  thoughts  so  deeply  engrossed  him,  that  he 
permitted  a long  silence  to  succeed  to  this  singular 
denunciation  ; then  starting,  as  from  a profound 
revery,  he  said : 

u I shall  be  detained  here  a few  days  longer,  con- 
trary to  my  intention.  Your  election  may  be  deter- 
mined in  the  interim ; and  the  revelation,  which  must 
then  take  place ” 

“ Yes,”  interrupted  Lord  Adelm ; “ but  it  is  an  ob- 
ject with  me  that  this  revelation  be  protracted.  Noth- 
ing effectual  can  be  done  till  the  opening  of  term.” 

“ Nay,  you  shall  name  the  time,  the  moment,  your- 
self. I too  have  my  reasons  for  prolonging  my  in- 
cognito yet  a little  longer.” 

“ What !”  said  Lord  Adelm,  with  a bitter  smile, 
“ have  you  too  a phantom  to  contend  with  ?” 

“ No : my  object  of  contention,  as  you  call  it,  is, 
simply,  a woman.” 


484  FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 

“ The  betrothed  wife  to  which  you  alluded  ?”  asked 
Lord  Adelm. 

“ You  shall  know  all  at  a future  moment,”  was  the 
reply. 

Here  the  opening  of  the  drawing-room  door,  and 
the  sound  of  approaching  steps  and  voices,  separated 
the  friends.  Lord  Adelm  retreated  to  his  dressing- 
room,  and  the  general  threw  himself  into  the  Dunore 
chaise,  and  returned  to  his  tower. 

The  sentiment,  inspired  by  one  as  much  an  object 
of  suspicion  as  of  admiration,  occupied  General  Fitz- 
walter  with  a despotism,  which  a sense  of  honor,  and 
of  his  own  peculiar  situation,  could  alone  repress  or 
resist.  Still  it  possessed,  it  engrossed  him  ; it  chased 
repose  from  his  pillow  by  night ; it  agitated  and  dis-  ] 
turbed  the  dream  of  the  morning ; and  it  drove  him 
into  scenes  of  solitude,  wild  as  his  passions,  and 
lonely  as  his  existence. 

It  was  his  wish,  and  might  almost  be  called  his 
principle,  to  avoid  the  castle  of  Dunore ; yet  he  had 
no  po»wer  to  accomplish  the  purpose ; and  though 
in  the  interim  which  must  necessarily  elapse  before 
the  arrival  of  an  answer  from  Florence  Macarthy,  he 
escaped  the  invitation  of  the  marchioness,  by  the  pre- 
tence of  a visit  to  the  romantic  and  locally  celebrated 
glen  and  hermitage  of  the  Gougane  Barra,  yet  in  four 
days  that  he  had  ridden  about  the  country,  he  had 
seldom  lost  sight  of  the  turrets  of  Dunore,  or  the 
ruined  towers  of  Castle  Macarthy. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day  he  found  himself 
on  the  edge  of  a wild  moor,  or  what  in  Ireland  is 
called  a shaking  bog,  which  skirted  the  heights  of 
Clotnottyjoy.  He  alighted  from  his  horse  to  inquire 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


485 


for  a bridle-way  more  safe  than  that  he  pursued,  frorl 
a man  who  appeared  whitewashing  the  walls  of  a 
wretched  hut,  which  arose  lonely  and  desolate  amidst 
the  bleak  and  dreary  scene.  As  he  advanced  he  per- 
ceived a woman,  in  a gray  cloak  and  straw  bonnet, 
standing  near  the  cabin,  and  seemingly  giving  direc- 
tions. The  sound  of  his  horse’s  feet  caught  her  ear. 
She  took  off  her  bonnet,  shook  back  her  dark  hair, 
and  discovered  the  glowing  countenance  of  Lady 
Clancare. 

General  Fitzwalter  started  at  this  unexpected 
vision,  and  then  advanced  and  moved  his  hat ; but 
wuth  her  upraised  hand  she  beckoned  him  back,  and 
exclaimed  with  much  earnestness  : 

“No,  no,  pray  don’t  come  here  : go  back,  General 
Fitzwalter,  I beseech  you.” 

“ For  what  reason  ?”  he  demanded  coolly,  and  still 
advancing.  “ This  is  my  road.” 

“ For  a thousand  reasons,”  she  replied,  moving  ra- 
pidly away,  and  speaking  with,  her  head  turned  over 
her  shoulder. 

“ One  will  suffice,”  he  rejoined,  still  approaching. 
“There  is  a fever  raging  in  that  house.  Nay,  it 
may  not  be  safe  even  to  come  in  contact  with  me.” 

“ In  contact  with  you  !”  he  answered,  with  a voice 
full  of  emotion,  and  now  walking  beside  her,  with  his 
horse  following  at  bridle’s  length.  “ But  if  a fever 
*rages  here,  why  then  are  you  here  yourself?”  he  de- 
manded anxiously. 

“ Oh,  because  I bear  a charmed  life,”  she  returned, 
laughing,  but  quickening  her  pace,  as  if  to  get  beyond 
the  sphere  of  contagion ; “ because  if  I did  not  come, 
four  wretches  who  lie  there,  dying  for  want  of  pro- 


436 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


per  care,  would  perish.  The  neighbors  hold  this 
typhus  in  such  dread,  that  though  they  come  and 
leave  a little  drink  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  they  dare  | 
not  enter.  No,  no,  you  shall  not  speak  what  you  are 
going  to  say  about  charity  and — a good  heart ; that 
virtue  always  ascribed  to  those  who  have  none — to 
the  capricious  and  the  unregulated.  The  fact  is, 
these  poor  people  are  my  tenants.  I induced  them 
to  settle  in  this  swampy  tract,  and  feel  myself  in  part 
answerable  for  their  existence.” 

“ But  if  there  is  infection  here  ?” 

“ I laugh  at  the  idea  of  infection ; that  is,  in  my 
own  person.  The  fever  which  sweeps  away  the  poor 
people  is,  in  my  mind,  the  pure  result  of  their  poverty 
and  its  concomitants,  filth  and  starvation.  Their 
moral  and  physical  ills  are  closely  linked,  and  arise 
out  of  the  same  cause.” 

“ But  how  is  it  you  warn  others  of  a danger  you 
contemn  yourself?” 

“ The  imagination,”  she  returned,  smiling,  “ goes  a 
great  way  in  this  business,  and  I keep  mine  exclu- 
sively for  my  books.  This  disease  I believe  to  be 
epidemic,  and  not  infectious.  I have  exposed  myself 
constantly  to  it  these  two  years,  and  here  I am,  still 
directing  Lawrence  Toole  how  to  whitewash  his  hut.” 

“ But,”  she  added,  suddenly  pausing,  and  slacken- 
ing her  rapid  pace,  “ is  not  this  rencounter  a breach 
of  our  original  stipulation  ? We  were  not,  I think, 

to  hold  any  communication  till  the  arrival  of ” 

“ I did  not  understand  that  accidental  rencounters 
came  under  the  head  of  your  proh  bition,  which,  you 
perceive,  I have  otherwise  religiously  observed.” 

“ You  take  the  advantage  of  the  letter,  and  neglect 


FLORENCE  MAOARTHY. 


487 


the  spirit  of  the  enactment,  I observe,  and  neither 
keep  the  promise  to  the  sense,  nor  the  ear.” 

“ No,  in  this  instance,  as  through  life,  I merely  give 
myself  up  to  the  tide  of  circumstances  as  they  flow ; 
adapt  them  to  my  wishes  and  my  views  as  I can; 
render  them  serviceable  to  my  purposes  as  I may ; 
turn  them  to  the  best  account  of  which  they  are  sus- 
ceptible ; but,  when  they  become  wholly  untr actable 
and  adverse,  then  I trust  I shall  stand  the  brunt  of 
their  resistance  with  fortitude,  and,  with  Milton’s 
demon  hero,  acknowledge  that  4 to  suffer,  as  to  do, 
our  strength  is  equal.’  I had  no  hope  of  meeting 
your  ladyship  this  morning ; but  most  assuredly  I will 
not  neglect  the  good  the  1 gods  provide  me.7  I am 
too  selfish,  perhaps,  to  consult  your  wishes ; but  still 
you  will  not  find  me  unprepared  to  obey  your  com- 
mands. Do  you  desire  me  to  leave  you  ?” 

“ Wishes,  obedience,  and  commands !”  repeated 
Lady  Clancare,  shaking  her  head.  “ You  are  resolved 
to  leave  me  no  female  doubling  to  escape  by.  You 
bring  me  to  my  purgation  at  once,  and  put  to  the 
rout  the  host  of  little  diplomacies  with  which  we 
habitually  come  at  our  object,  without  any  visible  in- 
terference on  our  own  part.  Suppose,  now,  I did  not 
wish  you  to  go,  and  yet  thought  it  right  to  command 
your  departure.  You  see,”  she  added,  with  her  bril- 
liant laugh,  “ to  what  you  have  reduced  me,  and 
plenary  confession  is  all  now  that  remains.” 

“ If  for  one  moment,”  he  added,  with  warmth,  “ I 
may  suppose  you  do  not  wish  me  to  go,  even  your 
commands  should  not  banish  me.  Will  you  take  my 
arm,  and  permit  me  to  see  you  home  ?” 

She  declined  the  offer  wdth  a slight  bow,  and  after 


488 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


a short  pause,  observed,  “ You  seem,  General  Fitz- 
waiter,  to  have  lived  but  little  with  women  ?” 

“ So  little,  madam,  that  I fear  I am  scarcely  fit  to 
live  with  them,  and  yet  am  unable  to  live  without 
them.  Woman  is  to  me  the  spring  in  the  desert, 
precious  and  rare,  seldom  found  in  my  life’s  wild  and 
dreary  track ; but  when  found ” 

Lady  Clancare  looked  full  in  his  eyes,  and,  laying 
her  forefinger  on  his  arm,  pronounced  emphatically 
“ Florence  Macarthy  !”  A deep  crimson  rushed  over 
his  face.  “ Since,”  he  said,  “ you  revert  yourself  to 
that  strange  circumstance,  you  will  allow  me  to  enter 
fully  on  an  explanation  of  conduct,  governed  only  by 
that  inevitable  course  of  events  which,  in  human  life, 
governs  everything.” 

“ Not  one  syllable,”  she  interrupted,  eagerly.  “ I 
am  one  of  those  legislators,  the  first  to  break  the  laws 
they  make,  but,  withal,  rigid  as  to  the  infringement 
of  others — a perfect  Lord  Angelo.  But  raise  your 
eyes  to  the  right.  Do  you  not  see  an  abrupt  conical 
hill  ?”  His  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  her  hand. 

“ It  is  called,”  she  continued,  “ Cahir  Conreagh,  the 
fort  of  the  king,  and  is  the  scene  of  much  romantic 
story.  It  rises,  as  you  see,  in  a plain,  open  and  sunny, 
like  the  life-path  of  the  prosperous;  that  is  your  way; — 
and  here,  to  the  left,  behold,  is  a little  gloomy  den, 
obscure  and  cloud-capped — it  is  rude  and  obstructed, 
and  leads  to  solitudes  and  ruins — that  is  mine ; fare- 
well.” 

She  turned  abruptly  away  towards  the  spot  she 
had  so  singularly  described,  and  moved  on  with  ra- 
pidity ; but  Fitzwalter  as  rapidly  followed  and  over- 
took her. 


FLORENCE  MACART1IY. 


489 


« Lady  Clancare,”  he  said,  imperatively,  “ yon  must 
hear  me.  I will  not  neglect  the  opportunity  afforded 
me  by  accident — -accident  is  fate,  is  fortune ; and 
fools  or  cowards  only  neglect  its  favors,  or  miss  its 
tide.  I am  not  much  in  the  habit  of  governing  my- 
self, or  of  being  governed — more  practised  in  com- 
mand than  in  obedience;  yet  I have  obeyed  you, 
without  reservation,  as  far  as  your  orders  were  di- 
rected by  prudence,  discretion,  or  any  other  cold,  ne- 
cessary quality,  which  the  world  takes  upon  trust,  in 
place  of  better  feelings.  I am  prepared  to  obey  you 
still,  in  the  world.  There,  reject  and  banish  me  as 
you  will,  if  it  must  be  so ; but  here,  in  this  place,  so 
lonely,  no  eye  to  watch,  no  tongue  to  wound,  no 
malice  to  misrepresent,  why  should  you  refuse  to 
hear  me  on  a subject  connected  with  the  future  des- 
tiny of  one  whose  happiness  you  hold  so  dear  to  you  ? 
Hitherto  I have  lived  the  creature  of  my  own  for- 
tunes, independent  of  any  human  being  for  my  con- 
duct, without  one  object  to  interest,  one  tie  to  bind 
me ” 

“ Without  one  tie  ?”  interrupted  Lady  Clancare, 
emphatically,  yet  obviously  intimidated  by  the  im- 
petuosity of  his  manner;  for  he  spoke  with  vehe- 
mence— his  eyes  flashing,  his  cheek  glowing. 

“Well  then,”  he  said,  “if  you  persist  in  calling 
that  a tie,  it  is  to  that  tie  I would  allude.  I would 
account  to  you  for  an  act  so  romantic,  that  even  the 
feelings  which  led  to  it  can  scarcely  excuse  it — my 
strange,  equivocal,  uncompleted  marriage  with  Flo- 
rence Macarthy.” 

“ Then,  General  Fitzwalter,”  replied  Lady  Clancare, 
with  firmness,  “ on  this  subject,  neither  here  nor  any- 


490 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


where  ought  I to  hear  you,  until  empowered  to  do  so 
by  Florence  Macarthy  herself.  A few  days  must  put 
you  in  possession  of  her  own  sentiments  and  deter- 
mination. But  in  the  interim,”  she  added,  with  a 
smile,  “ like  other  diplomatic  agents,  I must  neither 
act  nor  speak  without  instructions.” 

“ Then,  madam,”  he  replied,  with  petulance,  “ it 
were,  perhaps,  best  to  relieve  you  from  your  over- 
cautious agency.  I will  fly  myself  to  Florence  Ma- 
carthy ; overtake,  perhaps  anticipate,  a letter,  which 
never  should  have  been  written  before  a personal  in- 
terview had  taken  place ; and  learn,  viva  voce , what 
it  is  idleness  to  wait  for  in  dilatory  suspense.” 

u Are  you  sure  she  will  receive  you  ?”  asked  Lady 
Clancare,  coolly. 

“ She  must  receive  me,”  was  the  stern  reply. 

“ True,  even  a convent’s  bars  yield  to  a husband’s 
intrusion.” 

“ Husband  !”  repeated  General  Fitzwalter.  “ Hus- 
band to  a woman  I scarcely  looked  upon ! whom  I 
might  not  even  again  recognize  !” 

u Yet  so  earnestly  did  she  look  at  you,”  said  Lady 
Clancare,  in  a voice  full  of  softness  and  reproach ; 
“ so  well  are  you  remembered,  that  from  her  descrip- 
tion alone  I should  have  known  you  among  a thou- 
sand. Hay,  I did  instantly  recognize  you,  from  the 
picture  she  had  drawn,  even  before  you  were  an- 
nounced in  the  hall  of  Dunore.  So  much  for  the 
rapidity  of  a woman’s  perceptions,  the  fidelity  of  a 
woman’s  memory,  where  the  heart  is  engaged. 

“ The  heart ! the  heart  engaged  ?”  he  interrupted, 
“ in  one  sudden,  short,  agitated  interview  ! under  such 
circumstances  too  1” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


491 


“The  circumstances  of  that  interview  quickened 
and  deepened  the  impression,  and  were  calculated  to 
affect  and  influence  a woman’s  feelings  and  imagina- 
tion. A soldier’s  daughter  was  well  fitted  to  be  in- 
terested in  a soldier’s  virtues.  She  beheld  you,  for 
the  first  time,  flushed  with  conquest,  soothing  a 
father’s  death-bed  anxieties,  for  the  fate  of  his  friend- 
less child,  by  the  offer  of  all  you  had  to  bestow,  your 
hand,  fortune,  and  a name  destined  for  immortality ; 
and  when  Florence  Macarthy  described  you  as  bearing 
her  wounded,  dying  parent  in  your  arms,  from  the 
field  of  battle  to  the  neighboring  convent,  from  which 
she  herself  had  beheld  the  fatal  conflict — when  she 
painted  you  as  generously  answering  all  his  parental 
solicitudes,  by  offering  to  give  his  child  the  only  pro- 
tection a man  of  your  age  could  afford  a woman  of 
hers— when  she  dwells  upon  your  valor  and  disinter- 
estedness, your  prompt,  uncalculating,  romantic  gen- 
erosity—” 

“ Lady  Clancare,”  said  General  Fitzwalter,  in  great 
emotion,  and  coloring  deeply,  “I  cannot  hear  you 
out.  That  Miss  Macarthy  should  have  received  such 
an  impression,  that  you  should  thus  recapitulate ” 

“Me!”  she  replied,  carelessly:  “you  don’t  suppose 
I was  imposed  upon  by  the  representations  of  a love- 
sick girl?  No,  I have  but  little  respect  for  military 
heroes.  Luck  and  temperament  usually  form  the 
compound  of  a hero;  and  for  one  Caesar  on  th^  list 
of  military  immortality,  there  is  many  an  illiterate 
Marlborough,  without  education  sufficient  to  spell  his 
own  dispatches,  and  many  a brutal  Saxe,  without  in-_ 
tellect  enough  to  compose  them.  O ! your  heroes 
follow  a fearful  and  an  hireling  trade,  at  best : some- 


492 


FLORENCE  MACARTHIf. 


times  the  butchers,  sometimes  'the  gaolers  of  the 
species;  rarely  its  advocates  or  benefactors.  Vain- 
glorious abroad,  worthless  at  home,  despotic  in  the 
camp,  dull  in  the  circle — -it  has  been  well,  though 
quaintly  said : 

‘ Hercules  was  a fool,  and  straight  grew  famous  ; 

For  fool’s  the  stuff  of  which  heaven  makes  a hero.’  ” 

“ If  a man,'5  said  Fitzwalter,  with  a bent  brow,  and 
a compressed  lip,  “ambitioned  the  character  of  a 
hero,  your  ladyship's  description  would  but  little  flat- 
ter his  passion.” 

“ I admit  exceptions,  however,  and  would  make 
one  in  favor  of  the  Librador,  to  whom  American 
gratitude  may  yet  raise  statues ; but  I do  not  admit 
them  to  Florence  Macarthyf  It  has  long  been  my 
system  to  oppose  her  fatal,  fruitless  prepossession  in 
your  favor,  by  representations  calculated  to  weaken 
them;  and  when  she  would  excuse  your  desertion, 
by  the  untoward  circumstances  of  a party  of  royal 
troops  rushing  down  upon  the  convent,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  marriage  ceremony  was  performing 
in  its  chapel,  which  obliged  you  to  drop  the  hand  of 
the  weeping  (and  entre  nous ),  maudlin  bride,  and  to 
seize  the  sword — when  she  dwells  upon  your  being 
forced  from  the  altar  to  the  field,  upon  your  bravely 
opposing,  repulsing,  pursuing  a sanguinary  foe,  being 
surrounded,  taken  prisoner,  condemned  to  death, 
rescued  by  your  own  devoted  troop,  then  I take  up 
the  tale,  to  add — and  once  more  free,  and  crowned 
with  fresh  laurels,  did  he  return  to  lay  them  at  your 
feet,  to  claim  his  half- widowed  bride,  to  ratify  his 
imperfect  vows !” 

She  paused,  looked  under  her  eyes ; and  there  was 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


493 


a malignant  archness  in  her  countenance  which  had 
its  effect.  In  a tone  of  irritation  and  impatience  he 
replied,  “ I was  the  victim  of  circumstances.  I did, 
however,  return.” 

“ When  ?”  asked  Lady  Clancare  hastily. 

“ At  the  expiration  of  some  months,  and  found  the 
convent,  where  Miss  Macarthy  had  been  placed  by 
her  father,  during  the  campaign  in  which  he  fell  to 
save  me,  razed  to  the  ground  by  the  Spanish  army.” 

“And  with  the  convent,”  continued  Lady  Clan- 
care,  laughing,  “ fell  your  hopes  and  wishes,  and  all 
the  et  cetera  of  disappointed  love.  War  was,  in  fact, 
your  mistress,  as  glory  was  your  passion ; and  now 
Florence  Macarthy  is  left  to  find  herself  the  1 spouse 
of  God  in  vain for  though,  after  your  desertion,  she 
struggled  hard  in  her  vocation,  the  human  feeling 
was  superior  to  the  heavenly  calling : ‘ not  on  the 
cross  her  eyes  were  fixed,  but  you.’  She  followed 
you  through  all  the  public  events  of  the  day.  Every 
gazette  was  a register  of  your  actions  and  heroism. 
The  guerilla  chief,  II  Librador,  became  the  hero  of 
her  imagination,  that  first  stronghold  in  the  pregna- 
ble garrison  of  a woman’s  feelings.” 

She  paused.  The  general  sighed  deeply,  walked 
on  with  a slackened  pace  and  folded  arms,  and  lent 
not  a pleased  but  an  ardent  attention,  interrupted  by 
occasional  starts  of  amazement,  while  she  again  con- 
tinued ; “ Unwooed,  unsought  for,  forlorn,  abandoned, 
poor  and  friendless,  the  destruction  of  the  convent 
which  had  afforded  her  an  asylum,  urged  her  return 
to  Ireland.  Since  then  her  life  has  been  a blank : 
with  one  bright  object  glittering  upon  its  surface, 
like  the  brilliant  spot,  self-formed,  in  the  eye,  when 


494 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


all  around  is  darkness.  You,  however,  I trust,  have 
come  to  dispel  that  darkness,  and  to  give  that  bright 
speck  a more  definite  form  and  a steadier  lustre ; for 
I take  it  for  granted  you  are  returned  in  search  of  a 
wife,  though  I confess  that  you  negotiate  the  re- 
covery with  a sang  froid  that  renders  your  ardor  in 
the  research  very  doubtful.” 

u I came  to  this  country,”  he  said,  thoughtfully, 
and  with  a countenance  marked  by  painful  embar- 
rassment, “ upon  a very  different  business,  upon  a 
mission  less  generous  than  you  suppose.”  He  pressed 
his  hand  to  his  forehead,  and  abruptly  broke  off; 
then,  after  a few  moments’  silence,  interrupted  only 
by  a deep  inspiration,  he  added,  “ I will  see  Miss 
Macarthy,  madam.  I will  leave  Dunore  for  her  con- 
vent to-morrow ; and  if  her  feelings  are  disposed  as 
you  describe  them,  if  her  religious  like  her  marriage 
vows  are  still  unratified — — ” 

“ If  they  were  ratified,”  interrupted  Lady  Clancare, 
eagerly,  “ with  her  great-uncle,  Don  Dermutio  Ma- 
carthy, a Cardinal  of  considerable  influence  with 'the 
Pope,  and  resident  at  Rome,  there  would  be  no  diffi- 
culty in  procuring  a dispensation.”  Then,  after  a 
long  pause,  she  added  with  earnestness — “ Go  then, 
General  Fitzwalter,  and  hear  your  destiny  from  the 
lips  of  her  whose  life  and  happiness  lies,  I fear,  in 
your  decision ; and  take  with  you  my  prayers  for 
your  happiness,  my  hopes  that  whatever  has  drawn 
you  to  this  poor  country,  it  will  yet  benefit  by  your 
talents  and  philanthropy;  and  that  the  liberator  of 
the  enslaved  in  other  lands  may  become  the  advocate 
of  the  oppressed  in  his  own.” 

She  spoke  writh  a feeling,  an  energy  that  was  in- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


495 


fectious;  and  when  she  pronounced  “farewell,”  and 
extended  her  hand  to  Fitzwalter,  he  seized  it  with  a 
grasp  almost  painful  in  its  pressure ; his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  her,  as  he  searched,  or  would  have  searched, 
her  inmost  soul ; and  the  agitation  of  his  countenance 
evinced  the  conflict  of  deep  and  strongly-opposed 
emotions  by  which  his  own  was  torn  ; yet  he  continued 
silent. 

“ Should  Miss  Macarthy’s  ^answer  arrive  in  your 
absence,  enclosed  to  me,”  demanded  Lady  Clancare, 
gently,  but  vainly  endeavoring  to  liberate  her  hand, 
“ where  am  I to  forward  it  ?” 

“ If,”  said  he,  dropping  her  hand  with  a deep  sigh, 
and  recovering  from  his  abstraction, — “ if  you  expect 
an  answer  so  soon — ” he  paused. 

“ I must  have  one  in  a day  or  two  at  furthest,” 
she  replied.  “ I did  not  trust  your  embassy  to  our 
uncertain  cross-posts ; I dispatched  one  of  our  Irish 
pedestrian  couriers,  who,  if  not  quite  as  graceful  as 
1 a feathered  mercury,’  is  always  trustworthy.  He 
will  return  wdth  an  answer  in  the  shortest  possible 
time  that  the  surprise,  I may  say  joy,  of  poor  Flo- 
rence will  permit,  in  order  that  she  may  coolly  sit 
down  and  reply  to  your  unexpected  proposals.” 

“ Then,”  he  said,  “ I will  remain  here,  as  I first  in- 
tended, until  this — answer — arrives.” 

“ Perhaps  it  were  best,”  replied  Lady  Clancare, 
carelessly ; “ but  you  must  now  leave  me.  I know 
not  how  I have  been  thus  led  on  to  enter  upon  a topic 
forsworn;  a woman  is  always  the  slave  of  circum- 
stances and  of  her  own  garrulity.” 

“ But  I have  still  much  to  say,”  replied  Fitzwalter, 
with  earnestness,  “ much  to  ask,” 


496 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ You  must  not  say  it  now,  not  here,  for  we  are 
near  the  high  road  to  Dunore.  I must  not  be  seen 
walking  with  you  by  the  persons  of  this  neighbor- 
hood, who  have  no  quadrant  to  take  the  altitude  of 
my  character,  and  yet  affect  to  calculate  my  conduct. 
I have  set  out  in  life  with  wind  and  tide  against  me ; 
and  now  that,  by  prudence  and  circumspection,  I 
have  been  enabled  to  anchor  in  a safe,  though  rude 
harbor,  I would  fain  have  no  enemy  to  contend  with 
but  4 winter  and  rough  weather.’  Yet,  even  here, 
calumny  has  reached  me.” 

“ But  if  you  forbid  my  intrusion  elsewhere,  you  will 
at  least  release  me  from  an  observance  of  your  orders 
of  reserve  at  the  Castle  of  Dunore.  Will  you  permit 
me  to  address  you  there  when  we  meet  ?” 

“ Not  for  a wilderness  of  monkeys,”  she  replied 
eagerly,  and  smiling ; “ for  I hold  my  tenure  in  Lady 
Dunore’s  favor  by  a clause,  in  which,  somehow  or 
other,  your  not  appearing  to  know  me  makes  an  item.” 
“Indeed!  But,  good  God,  what  object  can  her 
friendship  be  to  you,  or—” 

“ Her  friendship  ! the  maniac  !”  she  interrupted, 
with  an  indignant  laugh  that  changed  the  whole  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance.  “ She  my  friend  ! — she 
is  my  instrument,  my  agent,  my  tool,  my  anything. 
You  look  amazed,  General  Fitzwalter;  it  will  not 
lessen  your  amazement  when  I tell  you  that  I am 
playing  a part  upon  which  all  the  prosperity  and  hap- 
piness of  my  life  depends.  It  was  necessary  that  I 
should  get  into  the  Castle  of  Dunore,  and  obtain  an 
influence  over  its  mistress.  This  was  effected  by 
means  as  wild  and  extravagant  as  her  mind  and  habits. 
I was  to  astonish  her  into  prepossession,  and  secure 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


497 


her  by  a series  of  events  which  should  gratify  her 
love  of  strong  excitements,  and  keep  up  the  constitu- 
tional fever  of  her  being ; which  should  make  her 
mine,  give  me  the  use  of  her  house,  the  sanction  of 
her  authority,  and  keep  aloof  the  idle,  frivolous  circle, 
which,  privileged  by  the  charter  of  society,  would,  out 
of  mere  curiosity,  without  beseeching,  have  gained 
admission  to  my  den,  intruded  upon  the  time  they 
could  neither  compensate  nor  occupy,  and  then  have 
left  me  to  oblivion  and  neglect.  As  it  is,  I counter- 
act the  pernicious  influence  of  the  Crawleys  on  her 
mind,  serve  the  poor  of  my  neighborhood,  by  direct- 
ing the  caprices  of  Lady  Dunore  to  relieve  their 
vrants,  keep  oft*  her  train  by  her  own  prohibitions, 
and  have  obtained  ample  ‘ scope  and  room  enough’ 
for  all  my  machinations ; for,  to  tell  you  a secret,  at 
this  moment  I move  more  puppets  by  my  art  than 
one.” 

As  she  spoke,  she  looked  like  the  magician  she  de- 
scribed herself.  “ I perceive,”  she  continued,  with  a 
voice  and  glances  which  became  every  moment  more 
acute  and  penetrating,  “ that  while  I gain  upon  your 
imagination,  I lose  in  your  esteem ; but  I shall  reco- 
ver it : 4 Le  terns  et  mci as  Cardinal  Mazarine  used 
to  say.  When  you  become  acquainted  with  the  ob- 
ject, you  will  admit  the  legality  of  the  means,  extra- 
ordinary as  they  are,  extraordinary  as  they  will  ap- 
pear to  you ; for  when  you  know  that  I have  imposed 
myself  upon  Lady  Dunore  as  your  wife ” 

“ My  wife !”  he  exclaimed,  starting  with  the  look 
of  one  thunder- stricken. 

“ Yes,  your  wife!”  and  she  laughed,  but  colored 
deeply,  and  turned  pale  in  the  succeeding  moment. 


498 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“In  a word,  I have  assumed  the  story  of  Florence 
Macarthy ; have  persuaded  Lady  Dunore  that  I have 
found  my  renegade  husband  in  her  circle  without 
being  recognized  by  him ; for  with  a little  dramatic 
license,  such  as  being  much  changed  in  my  person, 
having  only  been  dimly  seen  through  the  shade  of  a 
Spanish  mantilla  by  my  unknown  bridegroom ; with 
all  those  combinations  which  might  have  existed  in 
the  instance  of  Florence  Macarthy,  (nay,  which  did, 
according  to  her  own  account,)  I have  imposed  on 
her  by  facts  extraordinary  beyond  the  utmost  daring 
of  fiction.  Her  object  is  that  I shall  win  this  cold, 
insensible  husband  as  Lady  Clancare,  whom  as  Flo- 
rence Macarthy  I could  not  secure.  While  engaged 
in  the  perpetration  of  this  scheme  she  is  wholly  in 
my  power.  But  if  you  really  should  fall  in  love  with 
me,  General  Fitzwalter,”  she  added  playfully,  “it 
would  be  the  ruin  of  all  my  plans,  by  curtailing  the 
time  necessary  for  their  accomplishment ; that  is,  if 
you  betray  your  unhappy  passion;  for  a married 
man,  the  husband  of  my  own,  dear,  long-suffering 
Florence,  must  be  unhappy,  you  know,  for  the  sake 
of  the  moral  of  poetical  justice.” 

General  Fitzwalter,  stunned  in  the  first  instance, 
continued  to  listen  to  her  with  increased  emotion ; 
but  when  he  would  have  spoken  she  interrupted  him 
and  continued : 

“ I am  playing  a desperate  card ; I have  set  my  all 
upon  the  chance.  I am  actuated  by  the  two  strong- 
est passions  of  which  a woman’s  heart  is  capable. 
They  have  each  their  object.  One  has  already  al- 
most succeeded ; the  other” — she  pressed  her  hand 
upon  her  heart,  as  if  to  check  the  violence  of  its 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


499 


throb,  suddenly  awakened  by  some  singular  associa- 
tion. At  that  moment  her  quick  eye  discovered 
some  person  moving  slowly  under  the  stone  fence 
which  separated  the  heath  on  which  they  were  walk- 
ing from  a car-road ; but  the  figure  instantly  disap- 
peared, and  the  deep  cuts  in  the  bog  on  the  other 
side  the  road  favored  concealment,  if'  that  were  an 
object. 

“ We  are  observed,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  anxious- 
ly ; “ no  retirement  here  is  sacred  from  observation. 
I suppose  you  are  aware  that  you  are  an  object  of 
suspicion  and  of  attention  to  Mr.  Crawley  ?” 

“ What,  now  ?”  said  Fitzwalter ; “ why  should  you 
suppose  it  ?” 

“ I know  it.  Many  respectable,  but  timid  persons 
in  the  neighborhood,  observing  your  residence  in  the 
country,  without  any  ostensible  object,  or  occupation, 
are  anxious  to  have  you  removed,  even  although  you 
are  received  at  Dunore,  the  ordinary  criterion  of  ail 
worth  and  distinction.  Your  reception  there  is  at- 
tributed  to  the  predilection  of  Lord  Adelm.” 

“ Lord  Adelm,”  he  observed,  “ is  one  whose  vir- 
tues are  overshadowed  by  his  fojlies.  He  is  noble, 
just,  generous  and  disinterested.” 

“ Yain,  capricious,  fanciful  and  heartless,”  she 
added. 

“ And  yet,”  said  General  Fitzwalter,  turning  ab- 
ruptly his  eyes  on  Lady  Clancare,  “ he  is  the  star 
that  holds  the  ascendant,  that  governs  the  conduct 
of  one  who  otherwise  seems  above  all  human  con- 
trol. Lady  Clancare,”  he  added,  rapidly,  “ I have 
now  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  he  is  the  object  of 
what  you  have  yourself  termed  your  machinations 


500 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


of  the  part  you  are  playing,  and  of  the  agency  so 
ingeniously,  whimsically  and  singularly  conducted; 
so  singularly  conducted  that  it  cannot  be  surprising, 
with  his  heated  imagination  and  unregulated  fancy, 
he  should  ascribe  it  to  superhuman  influence.  All 
that  you  have  so  candidly  confessed  deepens  and 
confirms  this  suspicion,  and  that  he  is  the  object  of 
the  passions  by  which  you  are  actuated,  the  strong- 
est of  which  a woman’s  heart  is  susceptible.” 

Lady  Clancare  interrupted  him : “ May  I beg  your 
assistance,”  she  said,  offering  him  her  hand,  for  they 
had  now  reached  a stile,  at  which  her  cabriolet  stood, 
attended  by  a boy.  Then  seating  herself,  and  taking 
the  reins  and  whip,  she  turned  her  laughing  eyes 
full  round  on  Fitzwalter,  and  nodding  her  head 
significantly,  she  said,  “ Le  terns  et  moi ,”  and  drove 
off. 

Fitzwalter  stood  transfixed  to  the  spot  on  which 
Lady  Clancare  had  left  him:  his  eye  still  followed 
the  rustic  carriage  that  conveyed  her,  till  it  descended 
into  the  glen  she  had  pointed  out  to  his  notice,  and 
was  lost  in  its  windings.  He  then  turned  shortly 
round  to  mount  his  horse,  and  came  abruptly  in  con- 
tact with  some  person  who  stood  close  behind  him. 
It  was  O Leary.  There  was  a shrewd,  sly  glance, 
lurking  in  the  old  man’s  eyes,  mingled  with  the  sur- 
prise and  pleasure  expressed  at  the  general’s  appear- 
ance, which  did  not  escape  him  at  whom  it  was 
levelled.  He  colored  slightly,  and  said,  with  some 
coldness,  “ So,  O’Leary !” 

uAgus  cead  mille  failthe , your  honor,”  said  O’Leary, 
moving  his  hat : u ten  thousand  welcomes,  and  ten 
million  welcomes  home;  and  hopes  the  Gougane 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


501 


Barra  plazed  you,  sir,  and  Father  O’Mahony’s  her- 
mitage.” 

Fitzwalter  was  never  less  in  a mood  to  with- 
stand the  annoyance  of  unseasonable  intrusion.  His 
thoughts  were  deeply  occupied,  and  beyond  the 
power  of  interest,  or  distraction  from  any  other  sub- 
ject. The  presence  of  O'Leary,  and  the  peculiar  and 
significant  expression  of  his  countenance,  embarrassed 
and  provoked  him.  He  mounted  his  horse  in  silence ; 
but  the  tremulous  and  boggy  surface  he  was  treading 
obliged  him  to  walk  the  spirited  animal  slowly  and 
cautiously  over  the  irregular  and  undulating  turf. 
O’Leary  walked  beside  him  for  a few  minutes  in  si- 
lence, raising  his  eyes  at  intervals  to  his  face,  with  an 
affectionate  and  apprehensive  look,  as  one  who  feared 
to  have  offended ; at  last,  with  a deep  sigh,  he  said : 

“ I’m  afraid  I’m  not  agreeable  to  your  honor.” 

“ It  is  certain,  O’Leary,”  said  the  general,  with  a 
petulance  of  temper  he  could  not  command,  “that 
you  do  not  leave  me  many  moments  to  myself.” 
“Don’t  I,  gineral,  jewel?”  said  O’Leary  sorrow- 
fully. “ Then  aren’t  it  quite  na’t’ral,  that  where  the 
heart  is,  there  will  the  body  be  also ; troth  it  will.” 

“ But,  my  dear  O’Leary,”  said  Fitzwalter,  in  a voice 
of  kindness,  “you  must  be  aware  that  there  are 
moments  when  the  presence  of  the  dearest  friend 
may  be  felt  as  intrusion.” 

“ His  dear  O’Leary !”  murmured  the  schoolmaster 
to  himself.  “ Why,  then,  see  here,  gineral,  jewel, 
sorrow  bit  but  I’d  throw  myself  from  the  top  of 
Mangerton,  afore  I’d  be  a burthen  to  you,  dead  or 
alive;  and  axes  nothing  bettef  in  life  than  just  to 
sarve  you  by  day  and  by  night,  and  to  be  looking  in 


502 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


your  face,  when  your  back’s  turned,  not  to  be  un- 
plazing  to  you ; and  wasn’t  thinking  of  you  at  all,  at 
ail,  only  wondering  when  you’d  be  back;  and  was 
going  on  an  errand  to  the  Bhan  Tierna  from  Father 
Mulligan,  about  his  dues,  owed  to  him  by  a poor 
family  on  Clotnottyjoy,  and  heard  from  little  Ulic 
Macshane,  her  boy,  who  was  leading  round  the  ca- 
briole by  the  bog  road,  that  she  was  here  convenient 
at  Larry  Tool’s  cabin,  a fever  house”  (and  he  crossed 
himself). 

“Well,  it’s  only  a thrifle,  them  dues,”  went  on 
O’Leary,  “ but  thrifle  as  it  is,  Shane  Gartly  wasn’t  able 
for  it,  in  respect  of  great  sickness,  and  none  to  get 
in  his  potatoes  for  him,  and  he  on  the  broad  of  his 
back,  only  just  for  the  Bhan  Tierna,  the  blessing  of 
God  and  the  Virgin  Mary  light  on  her  every  day  she 
sees  the  sun.  When  she  got  Clottnottyjoy  into  her 
hands,  it  was  a desolate,  neglected  place,  with  only  a 
little  handful  of  cattle  grazing  on  it  in  the  autumn 
time.  The  first  ever  she  settled  on  it  was  this  Shane 
Gartly,  whom  she  found  big,  bare,  and  ragged, 
walking  the  world  with  a wife  and  four  childre,  and 
a blanket  and  kettle;  and  says  she,  if  you’ll  settle 
down  here,  my  lad,  and  labor,  I’ll  give  you  a taste  of 
land  to  be  yours  forever,  and  help  you  to  raise  a 
shed,  and  lend  you  three  pounds  to  stock  and  begin 
the  world  with ; and  so  she  did.  Under  God,  and 
her  ladyship,  Shane  was  doing  bravely,  and  many  a 
one  followed  his  example,  and  Christians  were  seen 
now  where  only  bastes  thriv  before ; but, 

Hand  facile  emergunt  quorum  virtutibus  obstat, 

Res  angusta  domi, 

as  the  Roman  poet  sayeth,  and  it’s  true  for  him ; for 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


503 


with  all  the  labor  and  pains  and  industry  of  the 
eraturs,  let  them  work  night  and  day,  and  let  them 
have  ever  such  good  friends  to  back  them,  it’s  hard 
for  them  to  get  before  the  world;  and  then,  if  any 
accident  happens,  if  the  cow  dies,  or  the  rood  of  bar- 
ley fails,  it's  the  greatest  of  distress  that  comes  over 
them ; and  so  it  was  with  Shane,  when  the  hard  sum- 
mer and  the  fever  overtook  him.  But  I’ll  ingage, 
with  God  and  the  Bhan  Tierna  on  his  side,  he’ll  fight 
it  out  yet.” 

“ From  your  account,  O’Leary,”  said  the  general, 
interested  in  a conversation  that  took  for  its  topic 
the  object  which  exclusively  engrossed  him — “ from 
your  account,  Lady  Clanclare  is  the  tutelar  genius  of 
the  soil  and  its  inhabitants.” 

“ Why  then  it’s  just  that  she  is,  the  lares-  and  the 
penates  of  the  poor  man’s  cabin,  long  life  to  her;  and 
if  there  were  many  of  the  likes  of  her,  plaze  your 
honor,  who  would  be  after  staying  at  home  with  us, 
wThy  then  the  reformed  and  the  civil  sort  would  be 
cherished,  and  the  poor  and  the  ignorant  would  be 
instructed  and  well  exampled ; and  sorrow  one  of  us 
wrould  be  beholding  to  them  Crawley  pirates,  bad 
luck  to  them,  and  their  likes,  who,  by  polling  and 
pilling  the  poor  to  make  good  their  own  fortunes, 
and  carrying  on  many  false  and  cautelous  practices, 
ruin  the  land.  But  though  they  send  strangers  to 
rule  us,  strangers  I mane  to  our  history,  our  natures, 
and  our  ways,  that  neither  know,  nor  read,  nor  study 
us,  and  though,  as  Sir  Henry  Sydney  said  to  the 
Queen,  they  pound  us  as  in  a mortar — though  they 
perish  us  wTith  want,  and  burn  us  with  fire,  still  the 
Irish  spirit  is  to  the  fore ; and  until  the  sword  of  ex- 


504 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


termination  passes  over  us,  as  was  once  proposed,  it 
is  not  in  the  breath  of  the  English  to  blow  it  out,  or 
extinguish  it.” 

“ I doubt,  however,  the  existence  of  this  Irish 
spirit,”  returned  the  general,  gratified  to  observe  that 
the  mind  of  O’Leary  was  becoming  hourly  more  col-  'i 
lected-as  the  cause  of  its  derangement  was  removed. 

“ The  result  of  this  misrule  and  oppression  of  ages,  I 
of  this  religious  disqualification,  of  this  arraying  one- 
half  the  people  against  the  other,  by  fanaticism  and 
jealousy,  is  to  extinguish  what  you  call  Irish  spirit, 
by  which,  assuredly,  you  do  not  mean  the  spirit  of 
idle,  unfounded  discontent.” 

“Unfounded!!  BachalEssu!”  interrupted  O’Leary, 
vehemently ; “ when  ould  Elizabeth  herself  said  of 
the  government  of  Ireland,  it  will  be  objected  to  us, 
as  to  Tiberius  by  Bato,  concarning  the  Dalmatians, 

‘ you  it  is  that  be  in  fault,  who  commit  your  flocks, 
not  to  shepherds,  but  to  wolves.’  Unfounded!  when 
three-fourths  of  the  people  are,  as  it  were,  branded 
on  the  forehead,  like  the  descendants  of  Cain,  and 
wandering  in  foreign  lands,  because  they  profess  the 
faith  of  their  forefathers.  For,  as  I said  to  Lord 
Adelm  Fitzadelm,  when  he  scoffed  at  Butler’s  Lives 
of  the  Saints  this  morning,  when  I found  him  seated 
his  lone  in  your  chamber,  gineral,  and  the  blessed  and 

holy  book  in  his  hands ” 

“ Lord  Adelm ! was  he  at  the  Friary  to-day !” 

“ He  was,  gineral,  and  yesterday — and  did  not 
much  like  his  turning  espial  on  you,  like  Jemmy 
Bryan,  who  watches  your  very  shadow.” 

“ Indeed ! But  did  Lord  Adelm  leave  no  message 
for  me  ?” 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


505 


“ None  in  life,  plaze  your  honor.  Only,  hearing 
you  might  be  expected  this  morning,  sat  him  down, 
and  took  up  Fra  Denis  O’Sullivan’s  books,  one  by 
one,  and  held  a disputation  with  me,  wherein  he 
showed  more  wit  than  faith,  until  Madam  Florence 
Macarthy  s handkerchief  caught  his  eye,  lying  on  the 
table,  where  you  left  it,  gineral,  and  forthwith  he  put 
me  on  my  trial.” 

“What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?” 

“ Crass  examining  me  all  about  it,  gineral,  how  it 
came  there,  and  marvelling  that  it  should  belong  to 
Madam  Macarthy,  and  she  not  in  it.”  . , 

“ And  did  he  take  it  away  ?” 

“ No,  plaze  your  honor,  gineral,  he  did  not;  and 
minded  me  of  the  honorable  Gerald  with  his  curling 
auburn  hair,  and  toss  back  of  the  head,  as  if  the  world 
was  made  to  be  his  slaves — the  very  moral  of  the 
father  of  him ; a great  calabalero  in  his  time.” 

At  this  moment,  a turn  in  the  path  brought  them 
up  the  high  road  to  Dunore,  by  a causeway  formed 
over  a bog  dike  by  branches  of  trees  and  sods  of  turf ; 
and  Lord  Adelm  himself  appeared,  followed  by  a 
groom,  and  rode  up  to  them.  He  looked  somewhat 
confused,  as  if  the  rencontre  was  neither  pleasant  nor 
expected.  It  was,  however,  inevitable,  and  he  drew 
up  as  Fitzwalter  approached  him.  To  his  abrupt  in- 
quiry of  whither  Lord  Adelm  was  going,  he  replied, 
carelessly : 

“ To  follow  your  example ; change  the  scene  for  a 
day  or  two,  get  rid  of  time,  myself,  of  the  society 
with  which  I have,  for  my  sins,  been  for  some  days 
shut  up ; in  a word,  promener  mes  ennuis  aitleurs .” 
The  general  threw  his  eyes  over  the  valis  strapped 


506 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


behind  the  groom ; but  Lord  Adelm,  as  if  to  avoid 
all  further  interrogation,  came  close  to  him,  and  con- 
tinued, in  a low  voice, — 

“ I congratulate  you  on  your  escape  these  few  days 
back.  Those  who  were  fools  before  are  now  mad, 
stark,  staring  mad ; bitten  by  Rosbrin,  and  that  art- 
ful little  adventuress,  Lady  Clan  care,  wrko  has  now 
brought  them  all  round  to  her  side,  even  Lady  Geor- 
giana  and  Lord  Frederick,  and  who  is  taking  the 
short-cut  to  Rosbrin’s  heart  by  flattering  his  stage- 
struck  vanity.” 

“ Lady  Clancare  ! — adventuress  ! — Lord  Rosbrin’s 
heart !”  repeated  Fitzwalter  breathlessly. 

“Did  you  not  observe  the  other  night  that  he  was 
the  Prometheus  that  awakened  the  statue  ? that  it 
was  for  him  she  kindled,  sparkled  and  blazed  forth  ? 
All  her  words  were  addressed  to  him,  and  all  her 
dramatic  airs  and  citations,  and  setting  my  mother 
afloat  on  the  article  of  private  theatricals, — her  flip- 
pant cast  of  the  characters  of  Comus,  her  assigning 
the  daudling  parts  of  the  prosing  brothers  to  us,  and 
giving  the  hero  to  him ; all  go  to  the  same  tune  of 
Kilrosbrin,  and  the  great  house  in  Portman  Square.” 

“ I perceived  her  kindling,  as  you  call  it ; but  that 
Lord  Rosbrin  was  her  inspiration,  ’tis  preposterous 
to  suppose.” 

“ Why  had  she  ears  or  eyes  but  for  him  ?” 

“ She  certainly  did  not  do  the  honors  by  your  self- 
love,  nor  by  mine,  for  she  noticed  neither,”  said  Fitz- 
walter, endeavoring  to  smile  through  the  air  of 
thoughtfulness  wrhich  had  taken  possession  of  his 
features. 

“ Yes,”  said  Lord  Adelm,  biting  his  lips,  “ as  she 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY* 


507 


tied  up  Rosbrin’s  leg,  I heard  her  call  us  ‘ the  two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona;’  and  the  fool  laughed  as  if  she 
had  said  the  cleverest  thing  in  the  world ; the  soubri- 
quet, too,  has  stuck  to  us  ever  since,  for  when  you 
were  missed,  you  were  inquired  for  by  the  title  of 
1 Sweet  Valentine,’  and  I was  addressed  as  c Gentle 
Proteus.’  You  will  find  them  all  in  the  paroxysm  of 
the  dramatic  mania  at  Dunore,  at  least  they  have 
been  so  these  four  days;  and  Lady  Clancare  will 
keep  up  the  epidemic  till  she  is  secure  of  exchanging 
her  castle  of  Ballydab  for  the  mansion  of  Kilrosbrin.” 
So  saying,  he  galloped  off,  followed  by  his  groom, 
who  had  been  talking  to  O'Leary ; and  Fitzwalter,  as 
one  who  had  undergone  a sudden  revulsion  of  ideas 
and  feelings,  heaved  a deep  sigh,  and  continued  his 
route  to  the  Friary. 

By  a few  indirect  questions,  he  discovered  that 
O’Leary  had  given  Lord  Adelm  sufficient  notices  on 
the  proprietorship  of  the  handkerchief  to  induce  him 
to  learn  the  address,  situation,  and  story  of  its  sup- 
posed owner;  and  he  entertained  no  doubt  that  his 
friend  was  now  engaged  in  a pursuit  of  errantry,  in 
the  supposition  of  having  discovered  the  unknown 
spell  which  had  governed  his  recent  life.  But  no- 
thing could  come  of  nothing.  If  Lady  Clancare,  the 
frank,  though  mysterious,  unaccountable,  incompre- 
hensible Lady  Clancare,  could  be  depended  upon,  the 
devotion  of  Florence  Macarthy  to  himself,  ideal  and 
romantic  as  it  appeared,  would  sufficiently  frustrate 
the  hopes  of  Lord  Adelm,  whether  they  sprang  from 
vengeance  or  from  love.  If,  however,  contrary  to  all 
expectation,  prepossession  yielded  to  ambition,  he 
would  himself  stand  released  from  an  engagement 


508 


FLORENCE  MACAKTHY. 


to  which  honor  alone  now  bound  him.  In  either  case, 
the  pursuit  and  absence  of  Lord  Adelm  boded  him  no' 
ill ; it  was,  indeed,  a subject  dwelt  upon  but  for  a mo- 
ment, and  rapidly  forgotten  for  one  which  gradually 
possessed  itself  of  his  mind  with  an  uncontrollable 
influence. 

Lady  Clancare’s  views  on  Lord  Rosbrin,  as  detailed 
to  him  by  Lord  Adelm,  he  could  neither  credit  nor 
disbelieve ; he  had  not  yet  been  a witness  of  the 
operations  upon  which  Lord  Adelm’s  inferences  were 
founded.  He  saw  at  once  that,  like  all  vain  persons, 
Fitzadelm  was  easily  piqued  by  the  semblance  of  ne- 
glect, even  in  a woman  who  neither  interested  nor  at- 
tracted him,  and  that  his  suspicions  might  have 
originated  in  the  discoloring  source  of  wounded  self- 
love.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to  judge  for  himself, 
and  for  this  purpose  once  more  to  join  the  circle  at 
Dunore — painful  as  it  was,  to  become  involved  in 
Lady  Clancare’s  strange  intrigue,  and  to  support  the 
character  assumed  by  her  direction. 

Wrapped  in  reverie,  he  was  still  seated  before  the 
untasted  dinner  which  O’Leary  had  provided  for  him, 
when  a note  from  Lady  Clancare  increased  the  pulsa* 
tion  of  his  heart,  and  propelled  the  blood  with  a vio- 
lence that  induced  O’Leary  to  observe,  as  he  stood 
watching  him : 

“ Ho  bad  news,  I hope,  gineral,  sir  ? It  was  a bit 
of  a gossoon  gave  old  Morraigh  that  missive,  your 
honor,  while  I was  attending  on  you,  sir,  and  hope 
the  Crawleys  have  no  hand  in  it.  Devil  speed  the 
whole  kish*  of  them,  I pray  !” 

“ Inquire  if  the  messenger  waits,”  said  Fitzwalter, 

* Kish,  a basket. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


509 


and  when  O’Leary  left  the  room  he  re-perused  the 
note,  already  hastily  read.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

“ General  Fitzwalters  letter  has  been  received  and 
acknowledged.  The  struggle  of  contending  feelings 
prevents  an  immediate  decision,  and  an  interval  for 
reflection  is  consequently  required.  Love  and  pride, 
hope  and  fear,  are  all  at  variance.  Meantime,  it  is 
expected  General  F.  will  not  present  himself  at  the 
Convent  of  the  Annunciation  without  a special  invita- 
tion. Should  Lady  Clancare  have  the  honor  of  meet- 
ing General  Fitzwalter  this  evening  at  Dunore  Castle, 
she  may  find  some  moment,  a la  dcrobee , for  being 
more  explicit. 

“ Castle  Macarthy. 

Monday , six  o'clock .” 

The  handwriting  of  Lady  Clancare,  the  paper 
folded  by  her,  fluttered,  the  pulse  of  him  to  whom  it 
was  addressed,  and  for  a moment  even  the  nature  of 
the  communication  was  forgotten.  When  at  last  re- 
verted to,  the  contents  of  the  note  came  like  a re- 
prieve ; he  believed  that  there  was  no  necessity  for 
remaining  where  he  was  to  receive  the  sentence  by 
which  he  was  resolved  to  abide.  He  had  arisen  from 
the  table,  and  was  about  to  replace  the  note  in  its  en- 
velope, when  the  seal  caught  his  attention ; its  motto 
w^as 

“ Sou  utile  ainda  que  bricando.” 


CHAPTER  XVin. 


Su,  svegliatevi  da  bravi, 

Su,  corragio  o buona  gente. 

Vogliam  star  allegramente, 

Vogliam  ride  re  e scherzar. 

Il  Don  Giovanni. 

I know  yon  all— and  will  awhile  uphold 
The  unyok’d  humor  of  your  idleness. 

Shakspeare. 

In  the  brief  sketch  which  Lord  Adelm  had  made 
of  the  social  economy  of  the  Castle  of  Dunore,  he 
had  scarcely  exaggerated  the  epidemic  influence  of 
the  reigning  folly  of  the  day.  The  dramatic  mania 
which  had  seized  the  marchioness,  indirectly  or  di- 
rectly favored  the  views,  interests,  or  vanity  of  every 
member  of  her  circle.  It  broke  through  the  spell  of 
that  all-pervading  demon,  ennui,  and  provided  that 
something  to  do,  or  to  discuss,  so  essential  to  those 
who  are  habitually  dependent  upon  external  circum- 
stances for  occupation  and  interest ; to  those  who, 
from  their  elevated  position  in  society,  are  unprac- 
tised in  the  exercise  of  their  own  resources.  It  re- 
moved likewise  the  prying  eye  of  concentrated  ob- 
servation from  those  who  wished  to  elude  its  glances ; 
and,  by  opening  the  door  to  strangers,  it  enlarged  a 
circle  whose  members  had  long  become  weary  of 
each  other. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


511 


Even  Conway  Crawley  and  his  aunt,  the  only  per- 
sons of  that  family  then  at  the  castle,  found  their  ac- 
count in  an  event,  which  afforded  to  the  poetical 
vanity  of  one  an  opportunity  of  writing  an  opening 
address,  while  it  left  him  a more  undisputed  manage- 
ment of  the  Glannacrime  election ; and  to  the  other 
it  held  out  means  of  operating  the  conversion  of 
Lady  Dunore,  which  overcame  her  conscientious 
aversion  to  theatricals,  private  or  public,  and  recon- 
ciled her  to  the  sin,  as  an  instrument  of  contingent 
good. 

Meantime  her  own  little  frippery  tastes  and  paste- 
board talents  had  ample  scope  in  planning  decora- 
tions for  the  prosenium  of  the  new  theatre,  in  as- 
sisting Lord  Rosbrin  in  the  getting  up  of  stage  pro- 
perties, and  in  suggesting  devices  and  mottoes  to  or- 
nament the  frontispiece.  She  disapproved,  it  is  true, 
and  spoke  against  the  whole  business  with  edifying 
eloquence;  but  she  seized  not  less  willingly  the 
scissors  and  the  pencil,  at  the  command  of  Lady 
Dunore ; domineering  over  the  dressmakers  of  the 
theatrical  wardrobe,  as  over  the  semptresses  of  the 
cheap  repository ; dictating  to  machinists  as  she  had 
done  to  neophytes,  and  flattering  herself  that  she 
was  forming  a balance  to  the  preponderating  influence 
of  Lady  Claneare,  who  had  so  nearly  turned  the 
vacillating  scale  of  her  patroness’s  favor  against  her. 

The  difficulties,  obstacles,  and  contrarieties,  which 
were  to  be  overcome,  or  reconciled,  made  up  the 
'whole  charm  of  the  arrangement  to  Lady  Dunore, 
who,  in  her  capacity  of  manageress,  had  to  contend 
with  that  inordinate  vanity,  that  overweening  amour 
propre,  usually  attributed  to  actors,  public  or  private; 


512 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  contrariety,  though  wearied,  fatigued,  and  fe- 
vered, was  not  less  a source  of  gratification  than  of 
annoyance. 

It  was  in  vain  that  plays  were  selected,  proportion- 
ate to  what  Lord  Rosbrin  technically  called  “ the 
strength  of  the  company,”  and  that  parts  were  ju- 
diciously cast,  according  to  the  talents  of  the  re- 
spective actors.  The  corps  dramatique  of  Dunore 
was  a company  of  first-rates;  all  stars,  all  chiefs, 
either  of  the  sock  or  buskin,  or  of  both  : none  were 
subalterns ; and,  with  a profusion  of  supernumerary 
Romeos  and  Doricourts,  Macbeths  and  Macheaths, 
there  were  none  to  take  the  inferior  characters. 

A young  lady  from  Cork  (introduced  by  Miss 
Crawley  as  an  “ Irish  gentlewoman  bred  and  born,” 
soon  to  come  forward  on  the  Dublin  boards,  and 
already,  by  the  stamp  of  private  opinion,  superior 
to  the  Barries  and  Siddonses  of  other  times,)  took 
possession  at  once  of  the  tragic  heroines,  with  a 
spirit  of  monopoly  that  was  not  without  opposition. 
Contentions  ran  so  high  on  the  subject  of  Othello, 
that  at  last  it  was  laid  aside;  and  three  tragedies 
were  placed  in  the  stock  list,  in  which  each  of  the 
tragedians  were  in  turn  to  play  the  principal  part, 
and  engross  exclusively  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence. 

Lady  Dunore,  meanwhile,  far  from  reconciling  these 
dramatic  disputes,  endeavored  by  every  species  of 
tracasserie  to  nourish  and  perpetuate  them.  Alter- 
nately chosen  by  the  contending  parties  as  referee 
and  umpire,  she  became  the  very  genius  of  discord ; 
and  before  the  first  rehearsal,  one-half  the  company 
had  sent  the  other  to  Coventry,  and  held  no  commu- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


513 


nication  but  in  their  assumed  characters  of  heroes 
and  heroines. 

In  this  floating  capital  of  vanity  and  exhibition,  the 
largest  portion  of  stock  seemed  to  have  been  con- 
tributed by  Lady  Clancare.  The  first  line  in  comedy 
had  been  assigned  to  her  by  Lord  Rosbrin ; and  the 
oddity,  whim,  and  originality  with  which  she  de- 
livered certain  passages  in  the  Rosalinds,  Beatrices, 
and  Roxalanas,  whether  they  were  or  were  not  true 
to  the  author’s  conception,  obtained  universal  ad- 
miration. 

The  influence,  however,  which  she  had  obtained 
was  not  exclusively  through  her  histrionic  talent.  She 
had  made  herself  necessary  to  the  amusement  of 
those  so  difficult  to  amuse ; and  she  consequently  as- 
sumed an  overweening  importance,  which  never  fails 
to  succeed  with  indolence,  or  mediocrity,  in  all  ranks. 
She  now  affected  to  consider  acting  as  the  first  of 
talents : she  spoke,  as  if  a great  tragedian  or  come- 
dian, male  or  female,  was  of  more  consequence  to 
society  than  the  philosopher  who  instructs,  the  genius 
who  enlightens,  or  the  artist  who  improves  it : and 
she  who,  as  an  author,  an  inventor,  Or  an  originator, 
had  appeared  in  this  bon-ton  circle,  modest,  nervous, 
timid,  and  unpretending,  now,  in  her  newly  assumed 
character  of  an  actress,  an  imitator,  a detailer  of 
other  person’s  ideas,  became  imposing,  self-sufficient, 
and  inconsequent.  She  took  without  hesitation  the 
place  which  the  new  prepossessions  of  the  frivolous 
society  in  which  she  lived  had  assigned  her,  and 
gave  that  boundless  fling  to  whim  and  caprice,  in 
'which  the  spoiled  of  every  class  indulge,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  those  who  make  them  what  they  are. 


514 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Always  surprising,  or  disappointing',  she  set  calcu- 
lation at  defiance ; and  the  certainty  that  the  corps 
dramatique  could  not  do  without  Ler,  rendered  them 
submissive  to  all  her  oddities.  Still  refusing  to  sleep 
at  Dunore,  a carriage,  horses,  and  servants,  were  kept 
in  continued  requisition  to  go  between  that  mansion 
and  Castle  Macarthy,  a journey  which  they  performed 
a dozen  times  a day.  Not  unfrequently  she  was  su- 
perintending her  turf  clamps,  while  her  Solyman,  the 
magnificent,  fretted  his  hour  upon  the  stage  in  ex- 
pectation of  his  sultana;— or  was  busied  with  literary 
composition,  or  in  getting  in  her  potatoes,  while  Or- 
lando stood  in  the  forest  of  Arden,  in  vain  attendance 
on  his  whimsical  Rosalind.  But  while  she  thus  ill- 
treated  her  co-partners,  for  authors  she  had  no  mercy. 
Seemingly  occupied  with  the  idea  that  she  alone  could 
amuse  or  interest  the  audience,  her  efforts  to  stand 
supereminently  forward,  to  secure  the  leading  points 
and  “ clap-traps,”  as  Lord  Rosbrin  called  them,  were 
incessant  and  extravagant.  She  cut,  interpolated, 
subjoined,  transposed,  and  changed  the  text  of  her 
part,  until  scarcely  an  original  intention  of  the  man- 
gled author  remained;  and  in  this  sacrifice  to  her 
monopolizing  ambition,  Shakspeare  and  O’Keeffe,  Ben 
Jonson  and  Morton,  the  author  of  the  day,  or  the 
poet  of  the  ages,  were  treated  with  equal  severity,  or 
rather  with  equal  indifference.  Still,  however,  dis- 
satisfied with  all  she  could  effect  by  efforts,  naturally 
opposed  by  the  contending  selfishness  of  rival  candi- 
dates, she  finally  resolved  (and  her  versatile  talents 
forwarded  the  intention)  to  write  a monologue  for 
herself,  in  which,  uniting  various  characters,  she 
would  alone  occupy  the  stage  and  the  audience. 


FLORENCE  MACARTlIY. 


515 


The  sketch  she  gave  of  her  interlude  (then  new  and 
unworn)  met  with  general  approbation.  Even  the 
literary  talent  expended  upon  its  composition  was 
forgiven,  in  favor  of  the  more  highly-prized  ability 
which  was  requisite  to  enact  it ; and  they  who  would 
have  scarcely  inquired  the  name  of  the  person  who 
( produced  the  clever  thing,  were  wild  in  praise  of  the 
j actress  who  only  realized  the  conceptions 

“ But,  good  heaven  ! my  dear  Lady  Clancare,”  ob- 
j served  the  marchioness,  as  Lady  Clancare,  the  centre 
of  a circle  of  listeners,  concluded  the  reading  of  the 
rough  sketch  of  her  monologue,  “ why  don’t  you 
write  plays,  instead  of  those  romantic  tales  about 
your  own  country,  which  everybody  reads,  and  no- 
body  believes  ?” 

“ Ay,  why,  indeed  !”  said  Lord  Rosbrin. 

“ Because,”  replied  Lady  Clancare,  “ if  I wrote 
plays,  I am  afraid  I must  draw  characters.” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  Lady  Dunore  ; “ and  what  then  ? 
Is  there  anything  so  delightful  as  characters  ?” 

“ Provided  they  resemble  nobody,”  said  Lady 
Clancare. 

. u How  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  the  marchioness. 

“ Simply  that,  should  I ever  abandon  my  high 
strain  of  romance,  by  the  advice  and  supplication  of 
my  dear  friends,  les  belles  et  bonnes  dames  de  par  le 
monde , and  hold  the  mirror  up  to  life,  you  would  all 
fancy  you  detected  in  it  your  own  reflections,  and 
each 

1 Would  cry,  that  was  levelled  at  me.’  ” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Lady  Ceorgiana ; “ if  one  saw 
one’s  self  shown  up,  one  would  feel  and  resent  it,  and 


516 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY* 


so,  too,  I hope,  would  all  one’s  friends;  at  least,  I 
should  expect  it.” 

‘ But  what  is  the  genre  of  character,”  said  Lady 
Clancare,  “ which,  if  in  true  keeping  to  life  and  man- 
ners, should  not  be  found  to  resemble  anybody? 
There  is  no  beau  ideal  in  human  life ; combine  quali- 
ties as  you  may,  to  the  very  verge  of  extravagance, 
the  world  will  furnish  models,  trace  likenesses,  and  as- 
sign originals.  Let  your  conceptions  be  as  universal 
as  they  can— paint  classes  and  describe  genera,  classes 
and  genera  are  still  made  up  of  individuals  ; and  even 
vanity  will  find  out  resemblances  where  malice  could 
not  trace  similitude.  There,  indeed,  my  patience 
quite  fails  me.  Conscious  vice,  conscious  absurdity, 
and  apprehensive  eccentricity,  when  combined  with 
masculine  energies  and  decided  volitions,  may  be  ex- 
cused for  indulging  in  such  fanciful  appropriations ; 
but  that  the  walking  no-characters  of  every-day  life, 
the  dear,  dull 

6 Unfinished  things,  one  knows  not  what  to  call, 

Their  generation’s  so  equivocal,’ 

should  imagine  themselves  fit  subjects  for  indignant 
reprehension,  or  sportive  caricature,  and  live  in  fear 
of  authors,  lest  they  should  put  them  in  their  books.” 
“ But  why  write  at  all  ?”  exclaimed  Lord  Rosbrin, 
who  was  now  considered  as  the  professed  admirer  of 
Lady  Clancare,  and  who  took  an  interest  in  all  she 
said  or  did. 

“ Simply,”  she  replied,  “ to  live — you  may,  perhaps, 
add  quelle  necessity ; and,  perhaps,  also,”  she  added 
significantly,  “ you  are  right.” 

“ No,”  answered  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ I should  reply  no 
such  thing.  I would  have  you  live  to  be  the  first 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


517 


actress  of  the  day,  which  you  would,  should  you  ever 
be  tempted  to  go  on  the  stage” 

“ One  never  did  see  a peeress  on  the  stage,”  said 
Lady  Dunore,  delighted  with  the  new  idea  “ it  would 
be  quite  curious,  charming.” 

“ So  it  would,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  as  if  suddenly 
struck  with  the  proposal;  and  inclined  to  adopt  it. 

“ You  would  have  made  the  first  actress  in  the 
world,”  continued  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ and,  perhaps, 
would  net  ten  or  twenty  thousand  pounds  in  a year 
or  two.” 

“ More  than  you  could  make  in  a long  life  by  writ- 
ing the  best  book  that  ever  was  read,”  observed  Lady 
Dunore. 

“ A great  deal  more,”  replied  Lady  Clancare. 

“ Besides,”  continued  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ so  far  from 
derogating  from  your  rank,  it  would  probably  pro- 
mote it.  The  greenroom  is  now  the  shortest  road 
to  the  red  bench.” 

“ Exactly  so,”  replied  Lady  Clancare. 

“ And  many  English  peers,”  continued  Lord  Ros- 
brin, with  meaning  in  his  looks,  “ who  would  not 
think  of  you  as  a gentlewoman,  or  a genius,  would 
be  happy  to  lay  their  honors  and  their  fortunes  at 
your  feet,  as  a celebrated  and  popular  actress.” 

“ Chi  pent  se  rapporter  a votes,  par  exempted  said 
Lord  Frederick. 

“Then,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  “you  would  be  so 
much  more  fetee  as  an  actress  than  as  a genius.” 

“ Besides,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ who  cares  when  an 
author  dies  ?” 

“Nobody,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  shaking  her  head. 

“ What  is  there  in  the  death  of  twenty  celebrated 


518 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


writers,  to  the  solemnity  of  one  great  tragedian  tak- 
ing leave  of  the  stage?  Handkerchiefs  streaming, 
eyes  winking,  sobs  heaving,  laurels  flying,  awful 
pauses,  broken  sentences,  and  hysterical  screams. 
I’d  rather  be  a great  actor,  taking  leave  of  the  stage, 
than  die  the  greatest  hero  of  the  age.7’ 

“ Then  when  you  do  die,”  continued  Lord  Ros- 
brin,  heated  by  his  subject,  “ what  honors  await  you  ! 
Dukes  hold  the  pall — earls  chief  mourners — Dead 
March  in  Saul — monument  in  Westminster — dust 
mingled  with  kings  and  conquerors !” 

Here  a sort  of  Irish  howl,  bursting  from  the  lips 
of  Lady  Clancare,  produced  a shout  of  laughter  from 
all  present,  save  Lord  Rosbrin,  to  whom  she  replied, 
shaking  her  head,  and  wiping  her  tearless  eyes,  “ Ho, 
never  did  I think  I should  weep  so  much  at  my  own 
funeral;  for  I am  now  determined  to  adopt  your 
lordship’s  advice;  and  like  other  dramatis  per  some 
1 to  that  complexion  must  I come  at  last.7  ” 

“ Then,7’  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ I promise  yen  com- 
plete success,”  and  he  added,  in  a low  whisper,  “ more 
than  that.” 

“ In  that  case,”  said  Mr.  Pottinger  (who,  since  Lady 
Clancare’s  popularity  with  the  “people  of  quality,” 
had  taken  her  into  special  consideration),  “ in  that 
case  I fear  your  ladyship  cannot  go  to  the  castle,  that 
is,  on  public  days.  You  could  not  well  take  your 
place  on  the  red  bench  as  an  actress,  although  you 
are  a peeress.” 

“ That,  indeed,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  as  if  suddenly 
struck  with  the  mortifying  conviction,  “ that  makes 
all  the  difference.” 

“ But,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin*  “in  that  case  you  will 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


519 


not  come  to  Ireland,  except  as  a star,  in  the  after 
season,  when  Covent  Garden  is  shut ; and  I'll  answer 
for  it,  the  viceregals  will  be  enchanted  to  give  you 
les  petite s entrees  at  the  Phoenix.  I remember  when 
the  arrival  of  an  Italian  opera  singer  in  Dublin  turned 
the  heads  of  the  court,  and  of  all  the  officials,  major 
and  minor.  Imagine,  then,  how  another  Darren, 
another  Abingdon,  would  be  received.” 

“I  wish,  Lady  Clancare,”  said  Lady  Georgiana, 
with  her  usual  supercilious,  high-dame-of-quality  air, 
“ I wish  you  would  raconier  a little  of  your  history  : 
I dare  say  itf  would  be  very  amusing  and  odd.” 

“ A mourir  cle  plaisir , no  doubt,”  said  Lord  Frede- 
rick, raising  his  glass  to  her  face. 

“ No,”  said  Lady  Clancare,  conceitedly  throwing 
herself  into  an  arm  chair,  “ I am  not  equal  to  details 
to-night : besides,  should  my  story  be  serious,  you 
would  yawn  over  it ; should  it  be  romantic,  you 
would  quiz  it;  if  philosophical,  you  would  not  under- 
stand it;  if  commonplace,  you  would  abuse  it;  it 
extraordinary,  you  would  doubt  it.  Now  it  happens 
to  be  all  this,  and  I should  thus  unite  every  species 
of  criticism  against  me.” 

“I  have  not  a doubt,”  said  Lord  Rosbrin,  “ that 
your  life  would  be  quite  as  amusing  as  George  Anr.e 
Bellamy’s  apology,  or  Miss  Baddeley’s  memoirs.” 

“ And  as  edifying,  too  ?”  asked  Lady  Clancare. 

“ But  I appeal  to  Lady  Dunore,  if  it  be  possible  for 
me  to  reveal  all  the  circumstances  of  my  life  ?” 

“ By  no  means,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  with  a mys- 
terious air,  and  throwing  her  eyes  to  that  part  of  the 
room  where  General  Fitz waiter  stood,  and  she  in- 
stantly gave  the  conversation  another  turn. 


520 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


After  a short  struggle  Fitzwalter  had  yielded  to 
the  temptation  of  Lady  Clancare’s  indirect  appoint* 
ment,  and  had  joined  the  evening  circle  at  Dunore, 
where  he  was  received  with  courtesy  by  the  mar- 
chioness, but  with  indifference  by  all  the  rest.  Mr. 
Daly;  the  only  person  capable  of  appreciating  him, 
had  departed;  driven  away  by  the  noise,  confusion 
and  discomfort,  the  bus$e  and  contentions  of  the  pri- 
vate theatricals.  The  little  society  that  had  been  en- 
joyed at  Dunore  Castle  was  now  quite  broken  up, 
conversation  was  at  an  end,  and  even  cards  and  bil- 
liards were  suspended,  the  whole  intercourse  being 
confined  to  criticisms  on  the  drama,  compliments  be- 
tween the  actors  on  their  respective  merits,  or  com- 
plaints of  rival  monopolists. 

The  hope  which  had  led  General  Fitzwalter  to  the 
castle  was  wholly  frustrated.  Lady  Clancare  had 
afforded  him  no  opportunity  of  addressing  her.  On 
entering  the  saloon  he  beheld  her  the  yprimum  mobile 
of  the  circle  which  surrounded  her.  During  the 
evening  she  scarcely  noticed  him  by  a look;  and 
when  she  retired,  which  she  did  early,  Lord  Rosbrin 
led  her  to  the  carriage  and  took  her  willing  hand 
with  the  air  of  Henry  the  Eighth  handing  out  Anne 
Bulleyn  at  Cardinal  Wolsey’s  banquet  and  murmur- 
i ing  as  they  passed  Fitzwalter, 

“ The  fairest  bud  I ever  touched.  Oh,  beauty, 

Till  now  I never  knew  thee !” 

While  she,  humoring  his  folly,  replied : 

“ I do  not  know 

What  kind  of  my  obedience  I should  tender, 

More  than  my  all  is  nothing. 

Beseech  your  lordship,  &c„,  &c. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


521 


The  words  were  lost  as  she  disappeared,  and  a 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  Lord  Adelm’s  observation 
struck  forcibly  on  Fitz waiter’s  mind.  He  turned 
away  in  indignant  irritation,  while  Lady  Dunore, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  expressly  on  his,  observed : 

“ Is  not  Lady  Clancare  an  excellent  actress  ?” 

“ Excellent !”  he  replied  in  a tone  of  ironical  sig- 
nificance. 

“Lord  Rosbrin  is  amazingly  in  love  with  her,” 
added  Lady  Dunore  emphatically. 

“ It  is  a proof  of  his  taste,”  replied  the  general  coldly. 

“What  do  you  think  of  her?”  demanded  Lady 
Dunore  with  an  inquisitorial  look. 

Aware  of  the  object  of  all  these  remarks  and  ques- 
tions, General  Fitzwalter  felt  confused  and  indignant 
at  the  strange  situation  into  which  Lady  Clancare’s 
imbroglio  had  thrown  him.  Lady  Dunore  evidently 
enjoyed  his  confusion ; without  reiterating  the  ques- 
tion she  added,  “ She  is  extremely  clever,  but  by  no 
means  does  the  honors  by  her  own  talents ; and,  un- 
til we  hit  on  these  delightful  theatricals,  had  no  suc- 
cess whatever  with  my  set.  Since  then,  she  has 
come  out  wonderfully.  She  is  the  most  delightful 
' Beatrice  I ever  saw,  and  capable  of  making  a Bene- 
dict of  the  most'  obdurate  wife  hater.”  With  these 
words,  uttered  with  a mysterious  air,  she  fluttered 
away  and  joined  in  a conversation  in  another  part  of 
the  room. 

General  Fitzwalter  found  himself  for  two  or  three 
successive  evenings  in  the  saloon  of  the  castle  a spec- 
tator rather  than  a member  of  its  society.  His  vis- 
its, however,  were  apparitions.  He  came  and  dis- 
appeared abruptly,  as  if  in  search  of  some  object 


522 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


never  obtained  yet  still  pursued.  His  character  was 
more  than  usually  energized;  and,  though  he  com- 
monly stood  wrapped  in  silent  but  acute  observation, 
in  sullen  and  marked  abstraction,  yet  he  occasionally 
came  forward  in  conversation  with  a boldness  and 
originality  that  chequered  the  monotonous  flow  of 
some  modish  opinion  and  startled  commonplace  re- 
mark from  its  wonted  track. 

His  first  appearance  at  Dunore  as  a guerilla  chief 
insured  him  that  species  of  favorable  reception  given 
equally  to  learned  pigs  and  French  conjurers,  Esqui- 
meaux  warriors  and  Irish  giants ; but  first  preposses- 
sions faded  away  in  proportion  as  it  became  known 
that  he  was  engaged  in  a cause  wholly  inimical  to 
the  sentiments  of  the  greater  part  of  Lady  Dunore’s 
circle;  and  he  had  upon  the  whole,  after  the  first 
surprise  occasioned  by  his  abrupt  and  splendid  ap- 
pearance, become  an  object  of  somewhat  less  conse- 
quence than  Thady  Windham  Crawley,  with  his  pen- 
insular honors,  bivouacks,  wigwams,  and  the  Ra- 
gent’s  levee. 

The  night  of  the  first  representation  was  now  ar- 
rived. The  play  of  “As  You  Like  It”  was  to  be  per- 
formed ; and  a crowded  audience,  furnished  from  the 
guests  of  the  castle  and  the  neighborhood  of  Dunore, 
had  already  assembled,  when  a note  from  Lady  Clan- 
care  returned  by  the  carriage  which  had  been  sent 
for  her  informed  the  marchioness  that  she  should  not 
play  Rosalind  that  night,  and  hinted  that  she  had 
been  seized  with  a typhus  fever. 

The  confusion  which  this  unexpected  circumstance 
created  was  excessive.  Persons  had  arrived  from 
immense  distances ; expectation  was  at  its  height. 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


523 


The  first  music  was  over  and  all  was  consternation. 
Lady  Dunore  stamped  her  feet  and  wrung  her  hands 
as  if  the  most  dreadful  affliction  had  befallen  her; 
she  abused  Lady  Clancare  as  if  her  misfortune  was 
her  fault ; and  would  have  set  off  for  Castle  Macar- 
thy  but  for  the  apprehension  of  the  infection  so  long 
the  object  of  her  terror.  In  the  midst  of  this  dilem- 
ma Lord  Rosbrin,  already  dressed  for  Orlanlo,  pro- 
posed to  undertake  the  part  of  Rosalind ; while  the 
second  Amoureux)  who  was  to  have  performed  Syl- 
vius, should  assume  Orlando.  The  second  Amou- 
reux  declared  that  Orlando  was  the  part  he  had  ori- 
ginally intended  for  himself,  and  that  he  was  perfect 
in  it.  One  of  the  foresters  engaged  to  perform  Syl- 
vius delighted  to  escape  from  the  mortification  of 
enacting  a mute.  Lord  Rosbrin’s  proposed  arrange- 
ment was  accepted  with  transport  by  Lady  Dunore. 
If  he  played  the  part  with  propriety  Lady  Clancare 
would  not  be  missed,  if  he  did  it  ridiculously  her 
place  would  be  still  better  supplied. 

The  place  teas  still  better  supplied,  and  the  shouts 
of  laughter  which  hailed  the  entrances  and  exits  of 
Rosalind  were  testimonies  that  the  audience  were 
satisfied  and  amused  up  to  their  bent.  The  play 
went  off  brilliantly,  bravoes  and  archi-bravoes  mark- 
ed every  speech,  and  the  original  Rosalind  was  left 
extended  on  her  bed  of  sickness,  without  one  thought 
of  her  situation,  and  given  to  instant  oblivion.  The 
disappointment  she  had  occasioned  Lady  Dunore  in 
the  first  instance  had  overthrown  the  frail  structure 
of  her  prepossession  at  a blow,  and  the  creature  who 
could  no  longer  amuse,  no  longer  interested,  or  lived 
in  the  memory  of  her  soi-disant  friends  and  admirers. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Standnot  amazed — here  is  no  remedy. — Shakspeare. 

Lady  Dunore,  wearied  and  exhausted,  was  the  last 
to  quit  the  scene  of  festivity,  and  the  most  anxious 
to  prolong  it.  She  had  presided  at  a splendid  sup- 
per after  the  play,  and  had  reluctantly  bowed  out 
her  guests,  and  bestowed  her  usual  embrassades  on 
her  dear  friend,  Lady  Georgiana ; she  was  now  tak- 
ing one  lingering  look  at  the  silent  and  deserted 
theatre  in  her  passage  to  her  own  apartment  when 
the  sound  of  a footstep  closely  following  her  own 
alarmed  her,  she  knew  not  why.  Without  “ casting 
a look  behind”  she  was  hastily  ascending  the  stairs 
when  a voice  called  after  her,  “ Aisy,  aisy,  my  lady, 
if  you  plaze.  I’d  just  beg  a word  with  your  ladyship 
incornuto  for  a moment.” 

At  the  well-known  voice  and  accent  of  Darby 
Crawley  Lady  Dunore  turned  round.  “ Good  God  !” 
she  said,  “ Mr.  Crawley,  is  it  you  ? When  did  you 
arrive  from  Dublin  ? Were  you  at  our  play  ? 
Conceive  my  not  seeing  you !” 

“ I was  not,  my  lady,  but  came  here  a few  hours 
back,  and  has  been  lying” — he  whispered — “ per  dor 
in  Anne  Clotworthy’s  room  till  the  play  was  over, 
and  the  company  gone,  not  wishing  to  show  myself 
for  raisins  of  state.  Would  your  ladyship  just  turn 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


525 


in  here  for  a moment  and  grant  me  a hearing  on 
very  particular  business 

“ Certainly,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  following  him  into 
the  dark,  spacious  dining-room.  Crawley  shut  the 
door  cautiously,  took  the  chamber  candlestick  out  of 
Lady  Dunore’s  hand  and  placed  it  on  a table,  then 
drew  forward  a chair  for  her  and  another  for  him- 
self, picked  up  her  reticule  and  presented  it  with  a 
bow,  then  drawing  his  hand  over  his  face,  as  if  at  a 
loss  how  to  begin,  he  at  last  abruptly  inquired : 

“ Does  your  ladyship  know  anything  of  Lord 
Adelm  Fitzadelm  ? for  he  is  not  here  it  seems.” 

“ Gracious  heavens !”  exclaimed  Lady  Dunore,  sud- 
denly alarmed : “ if  anything  has  happened,  let  me 
know  it  at  once and  she  started  from  her  chair. 

“ Where  is  Fitzadelm,  and  what  do  you  know  of 
him?” 

“ Nothing  in  life,  I give  you  my  honor,  Lady  Du- 
nore ; and  wouldn’t  keep  you  in  suspince  half  a 
minute  if  I did : only  just  axed  out  of  curiosity,  if 
he’s  at  a distance ; that’s  all,  I give  you  my  honor.” 

“ I don’t  know  where  he  is,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  be- 
tween the  hope  and  the  fear  of  having  some  cause  for 
alarm  and  agitation:  “he  is  upon  one  of  his  wild 
rambles.” 

“ Tom-Mew , as  the  French  says,  Lady  Dunore ; for 
he  has  a mighty  odd,  quick  way  with  him,  and  isn’t 
always  inclined  to  hear  raison.” 

“Nor  I neither,  at  two  in  the  morning,  my  dear 
Mr.  Crawley !”  yawned  his  disappointed  auditress. 
“Surely  your  coming  at  so  unseasonable  an  hour 
must  have  some  extraordmary  motive,”  and  she  took 
up  her  candlestick. 


526 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


“ Noways  extraordinary  at  all,  at  all,  madam;  for 
such  things  happen  every  day : what  brings  me  here 
to  your  ladyship,  masquerading  at  this  hour  of  the 
night,  is  about  a hitch  in  the  election.  I suppose 
Conway  has  tould  your  ladyship  that  the  sheriffs 
precept  for  the  election  is  issued,  and  the  polling  will 
begin  to-morrow.” 

“I  believe  he  did;  but  really,”  and  she  yawned 
again,  “ I have  been  so  deeply  engaged  of  late,  and 
Fitzadelm’s  absence,  and  my  dependence  on  you,  and 
your  son,  and  things,  that  I did  not  particularly  think 
about  it ; but ” 

“ But,”  continued  Crawley,  gently  taking  the  light 
out  of  her  hand,  “ he  did  not  tell  you  (and  how  could 
he,  and  he  never  near  Glannacrime  this  fortnight?) 
that,  contrary  to  our  expectation,  there  will  be  a vio- 
lent opposition  ; and  that  it  isn’t  noways  impossible 
but  the  Dunore  interest  will  be  trodden  down  by 
those  O’Mahony  Whigs.” 

“ Trodden  down !”  interrupted  Lady  Dunore,  in- 
dignantly, and  reseating  herself — “the  Dunore  in- 
terest trodden  down !” 

“ Except,  in  addition  to  the  hundreds  already  dis- 
tributed, there  is  a couple  of  thousand  pounds  more, 
to  carry  on  the  war  during  the  polling,”  added  old 
Crawley,  with  some  hesitation. 

“ And  is  that  all  ?”  asked  Lady  Dunore,  languidly. 

“ All !”  repeated  Crawley,  with  a look  of  pleased 
surprise.  “ Oh ! if  that  does  not  shoot  (suit)  you, 
ma’am,  your  ladyship  may  follow  the  bent  of  your 
generosity  and  make  it  double  or  quits.  But  the 
murther  of  it  is,  Lady  Dunore,  that  after  you  have 
expended  thousands  upon  thousands,  and  after  Lord 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


527 


Aclelm  is  elected,  (which  he  will  be  as  sure  as  eggs 
is  eggs,  and  no  thanks  to  them,)  it  seems  his  oppo- 
nent manes  to  petition  against  him  in  parliament,  on 
the  score  of  what  they,  the  spalpeens,  call  his  bribery 
and  corruption,  his  trates  and  his  presents,  and  other 
illegal  practices  to  which  he  has  had  recourse ; that’s 
if  you’ll  believe  the  likes  of  them,  the  rebelly  thieves  !” 

“ Bribery  and  corruption ! illegal  practices  ! My 
son,  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm,  guilty  of  this,  Mr.  Craw- 
ley!” interrupted  Lady  Dunore,  with  a mingled  ex- 
pression of  anger  and  surprise.  “ What  does  all  this 
mean,  Mr.  Crawley  ?” 

“Why,  it  manes,  my  lady,  plain  enough,  that  in 
Ireland,  as  throughout  the  world,  a little  bribery  goes 
a great  way.  The  people,  ma’am,  are  used  to  it ; it’s 
the  way  of  the  place,  time  immemorial,  and  will  be 
evermore.  The  voters  and  freeholders,  and  corpora- 
tion of  Giannacrime,  require  a taste  of  a dewshure,  as 
well  as  their  betters — why  wouldn’t  they  ? and  noth- 
ing has  been  done  here,  that  hasn’t  been  done  since 
the  beginning  of  the  Europayan  world,  at  all  elec- 
tions; and  would  pass  muster  anywhere,  only  for 
them  jacobin  whigs,  the  O'Mahonys,  that  are  just 
ready,  like  drowned  men,  to  catch  at  a straw.  It's 
only  them  and  the  likes  of  them  that  is  always  open 
mouthed  against  loyal  men,  or  would  go  to  call  a 
little  trifle  of  a prisant  made  to  the  burgesses  of  Gian- 
nacrime a bribe.” 

“ I don’t  care  what  they  call  it,”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
rising  in  violent  emotion,  as  the  high  honor  and  lofty 
spirit  of  her  son  started  to  her  recollection,  coupled 
with  these  accusations — “ I don’t  care  what  your 
Irish  creatures  call  it ; but  what  will  my  son  say  ? 


528 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


What  will  Lord  Ad  elm  Fitzadeim  say  to  this  impu- 
tation on  his  honor  and  principles  ?” 

“ What  can  he  say,  madam  ?”  returned  Crawley,  en- 
deavoring to  keep  pace  with  Lady  Dunore,  who  was 
now  walking  in  agitation  up  and  down  the  room. 
“ What  can  his  lordship  say,  hut  that  while  he  was 
star-gazing  in  Lisburn,  the  capital  of  Spain,  among 
them  Papists,  his  friends  at  home  was  working  for 
his  interests,  like  gallows  slaves,  sparing  neither  time, 
money  nor  labor  to  keep  out  the  ould  enemies  of  his 
family,  and  get  in  himself?” 

“ He  will  murder  you, Mr.  Crawley;  I promise  you 
that,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  coolly,  |ind  stopping  short 
in  her  quick  pacing. 

“ The  Lord  save  us  !”  ejaculated  Crawley,  looking 
round  him  fearfully. 

“You  know,,”  she  continued,  “he  already  holds 
you  and  all  your  family  en  franche  et  belle  aversion .” 

“ He  does !”  said  old  Crawley,  guessing  rather 
than  understanding  the  purport  of  this  sincere  assu- 
rance. Then  with  a low,  half  insolent,  half  mys- 
terious tone,  he  added,  “ Why  then,  in  spite  of  all 
that,  Lady  Dunore,  it’s  me  and  my  family  can  be  the 
saving  of  him  and  his  yet.” 

“ Indeed !”  said  Lady  Dunore,  with  a laugh  of 
irony. 

“ Indeed !”  repeated  Crawley,  unintimidated ; “ and, 
Lady  Dunore,  will  you  just  hear  me  for  a minute ; 
and  then  I’ll  never  spake  more,  if  I don’t  contint  you 
to  your  heart’s  desire.” 

There  was  something  imposing  in  the  manner  of 
Crawley  which  induced  the  marchioness  to  resume 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


529 


her  seat,  and  to  grant  him  (what  she  so  rarely 
granted  any  one)  a patient  hearing. 

“ Now,  Lady  Dunore,”  he  continued,  “ it  will  tell 
ill  for  the  greatness,  and  grandeur,  and  honor  of  the 
Fitzadelm  and  Dunore  families,  that  him,  who  may 
be  said  to  be  their  representative,  should  be  little 
better  than  a rogue  and  a rapparee,  and  give  handle 
to  the  Whigs  in  the  House  of  Commons,  to  be 
talking  of  the  corruptionists  and  Irish  electioneering 
bribery,  and  the  likes.  But  as  sure  as  Lord  Adelm 
is  returned,  all  this  will  come  to  pass.  He’ll  be  pe- 
titioned against  in  the  House  of  Commons,  to  the  en- 
tire satisfaction  of  the  Whigs.” 

“ I would  not  for  a thousand  worlds,”  interrupted 
Lady  Dunore  : “ I should  never  stand  London,  and 
the  insolence  of  the  opposition  women.” 

“ Then,  my  lady,  sorrow  thing  there  is  to  be  done 
at  all,  at  all,  in  the  business,  but  to  withdraw  Lord 
Adelm  altogether  for  the  present,  who  takes  no 
pleasure  in  the  election;  and  instead  of  being  can- 
vassing, is  at  this  moment  philandering  it,  like  a 
beau  maison , after  some  skittish  young  fawn  of  a 
female.  Just,  you  see,  consint  to  set  him  fairly 
aside ; and  then,  you  see,  Lady  Dunore,  we’ll  get 
another  person  agraiable  to  all  parties,  to  set  up  in 
his  stead,  who  will  be  elected  forthwith,  and  sorrow 
word  you’ll  hear  of  corruption,  or  bribery,  or  the 
likes,  I’ll  engage.” 

“ And  so  save  our  honor,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  “ and 
lose  all  our  money.” 

“ No,  but  save  both,”  interrupted  Crawley;  “ for 
we’d  take  care  to  set  up  a person  that  would  be  a 
follower  of*  the  family,  and  just  keep  the  sate  open 


530 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


for  the  real  member  till  the  desolution,  which  will 
soon  come ; for  ail  the  world  as  your  ladyship’s  foot- 
man keeps  your  box  for  you  at  the  theatre  till  you 
arrive  yourself.” 

“ This  all  sounds  plausibly,  Mr.  Crawley ; and  you 
certainly  are  a very  long-headed  person,  in  spite  of 
your  teinture  de  ridicule , which  renders  you  very 
amusing.  But  where  could  we  get  a person  to  take 
Fitzadelm’s  place,  in  whom  we  could  rely,  in  whom 
we  could  confide  , who  would  act,  for  the  time  being, 
as  our  deputy,  and  vote  as  we  bid  him  ?” 

“ Why,  then,  I’d  offer  myself  with  all  the  veins,* 
Lady  Dunore,  only  that  crassing  the  say  just  fairly 
kills  me.” 

“ You  !”  said  Lady  Dunore,  bursting  into  a fit  of 
laughter. 

“ And  what  would  ail  me  ?”  he  answered,  in  a tone 
of  mortification.  “ Sure,  many  a man  as  isn’t  fit  to 
hold  a candle  to  me,  Lady  Dunore,  has  been  sent  over 
from  this  country  a ready  cut  and  dried  parliament 
man.  I give  you  my  honor,  I’d  do  as  well  as  the 
best  of  them,  if  I was  in  it,  and  make  them  split  their 
sides  laughing,  which  is  all  the  go  now.  But  if  it’s 
eloquence  and  poethry  you  want,  and  one  readymade 
to  their  hands,  and  just  in  their  own  way,  quite 
ministarial,  isn’t  there  Counsellor  Con,  the  darlint  of 
the  corporation,  and  would  prefar  him  ’bove  the 
world  ? I’ll  engage  he’d  be  returned  as  soon  as  no- 
minated ; and  has  been  merely  known  as  law  agent 
for  the  election,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  what  the 
Whigs  call  bribery,  but  stands  with  clane  hands ; and 


* i.  e.  veins  of  my  heart. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


531 


would  lay  down  his  life  for  the  Dunores,  though 
Lord  Adelrn  trates  him  de  ho -on  baw , as  the  French 
says.” 

Iiei^  Crawley  paused,  looking  from  under  his- 
shrewd  little  eyes  on  Lady  Dunore,  and  puckered  up 
his  mouth,  in  silent  expectation  of  her  answer  to  this 
hazardous  proposition. 

Lady  Dunore,  after  a few  moments’  silent  cogita- 
tion, exhausted  alike  in  body  and  spirit,  and  already 
weary  of  a subject  which  now  ceased  to  agitate  her, 
at  last  observed  : “ Well,  Mr.  Crawley,  you  have  hi- 
therto conducted  this  business  your  own  way.  I am 
quite  ignorant  of  the  details ; but  all  I know  is  this, 
the  deputy  member  for  G-lannacrime  must  be  a staunch, 
thorough-going  friend  to  the  present  ministry.” 

“Lave  him  alone  for  that,”  interrupted  Crawley, 
“ sure  isn't  he  after  their  own  heart  ?’’ 

“ And  the  honor  and  intentions  of  my  son  must 
never  even  be  called  in  question.” 

“ How  can  it,  when  there  will  be  no  petition  against 
him,  if  he  is  not  elected  ?” 

“As  to  Lord  Adelrn,”  continued  Lady  Dunore, 
“ the  borough  of  Glannacrime  is  evidently  an  object 
of  indifference  to  him,  pour  le  moins ; and  I shall  be 
the  less  anxious,  as  I shall  command  the  voice  of 
your  son,  in  addition  to  my  other  voices  in  the  house  ; 
for  Conway  is,  after  all,  and  notwithstanding  what 
people  call  his  vulgar  effrontery,  a very  clever,  and, 
as  you  observe,  eloquent  creature.” 

“ Why,  then,  he  is  that  same,  every  taste  of  it,  and, 
without  wishing  to  alarm  your  ladyship,  or  give  you 
unaisy  drames  to-night,  I must  just  say  that  the  time 
may  not  be  far  off ” Here  he  paused,  looked 


532 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


cautiously  round,  advanced  to  the  door  to  see  if  it 
was  fast,  and  then  returning  on  tiptoe,  continued— 

“ when  you  can’t  have  too  many  voices  in  the  house,  ! 
nor  too  many  friends  in  court,  as  the  saying  goes.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  demanded  Lady  Dunore, 
startled,  and  amazed  more  by  his  manner  than  his 
words. 

“ Och  ! it’s  no  matter  what  I mane,  now,”  said  old 
Crawley,  coolly ; “ 1 on  time’s  uncertain  date  eternal 
hours  depend ;’  but  I won’t  now  detain  your  ladyship 
another  moment.” 

The  clock  at  this  instant  struck  three. 

“ I shall  not  leave  this  room  now,  be  the  hour  what 
it  may,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  throwing  herself  back  in 
a chair,  and  putting  her  feet  on  another,  to  mark  her 
determination,  “ until  you  explain  to  me  the  myste- 
rious words  you  have  just  uttered,  Mr.  Crawley.” 

“ Why,  then,  see  here  the  dilemia  I have  reduced 
myself  to,”  said  Crawley,  with  an  air  of  perplexity. 

“ I give  you  my  honor,  Lady  Dunore,  I would  rather 
walk  with  paize  (peas)  in  my  shoes  than  annoy  your 
fine  feelings ; and  it  three  in  the  morning,  and  you 
tired.” 

“ I am  not  in  the  very  least  tired,  Mr.  Crawley.  I 
am  equal,  at  least  I fancy  I am,  to  any  communica- 
tion you  have  to  make  to  me ; so  pray  go  on.” 

Old  Crawley,  with  hesitation,  and  a marked  reluct- 
ance, either  affected  or  felt,  began  and  broke  off  se- 
veral sentences,  hemmed,  cleared  his  voice,  and  cried  : 

“ Well,  to  be  sure,  of  course  my  late  noble  friend  and 
patron,  your  ladyship’s  late,  dear,  and  ever-to-be-la- 
mented  concert,  has  often  mentioned  to  you  an  idle 
story,  set  about  by  his  enemies  in  regard  of  a claim- 


FLORENCE  MCCARTHY. 


533 


ant  of  the  title  of  Fitzadelm,  for  there  was  then  no- 
thing else  to  claim;  and  who ” 

“ Not  a word,”  interrupted  Lady  Dunore,  im- 
patiently. 

“Not  a word!”  repeated  Crawley,  with  surprise. 
“ And  never  tould  your  ladyship  that  his  eldest  bro- 
ther, Walter,  Lord  Fitzadelm,  commonly  called  the 
Black  Baron,  had  a son,  an  only  son?” 

* “Never.” 

“ Who  was  drowned,  but  about  whom  there  were 
some  mighty  ugly  reports  ?” 

“ What  reports  ?” 

“ Oh  ! just  that  his  uncle  and  his  father  connived  to 
put  him  out  of  the  way,  to  raise  money ; that  at  one 
time  his  uncle  thought  to  bastardize  him,  by  proving 
him  the  son  of  a nurse  who  first  suckled  the  young 
Fitzadelm ; that  this  attempt  failed  ; and  that  after  his 
brother’s  death  he  had  the  boy  kidnapped,  and  sent 
no  one  knew  where,  among  the  black  negers,  and 
then  trumped  up  a story  of  his  drowning.” 

“ ’Tis  a most  curious  romance  !”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
interested  in  the  story  in  proportion  to  its  wildness, 
and  forgetting  the  part  her  husband  had  been  accused 
of  playing,  or  how  deeply  it  affected  her  own  sons. 

Oh,  mighty  interesting,”  said  old  Crawley,  ironi- 
cally. “ But  no  one  ever  believed  a word  of  it,  only 
the  inimies  of  the  Fitzadelms.  But  I suppose  my  lord 
tould  your  ladyship  that  the  herald’s  office  in  Dublin 
refused  him  for  a long  time  the  style,  title  and  arms 
of  Baron  Fitzadelm  ?” 

“ Never  a syllable.” 

“ Nor  of  the  convei’sation  he  had  with  the  Ulster 
King  at  Arms  whom  he  knocked  down,  and  stood  his 


634 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


trial  for  it  afterwards  in  Dublin ; my  brother,  the 
sergeant,  acting  as  counsel,  and  I the  attorney,  and 
brought  him  off  illigantly  ?” 

“ Never,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  with  increasing  amaze- 
ment and  interest : “he  never  would  allow  me  to  ac- 
company him  to  Ireland.  It  was  a subject  of  eternal 
contest,  with  many  others.  (She  sighed.)  I led  a 
most  miserable  life  with  poor,  dear,  Lord  Fitzadelm, 
Mr.  Crawley ; yet,  upon  the  whole,  I have  known  no 
happiness  since  his  death  : but  go  on ; your  story  is  a 
most  extraordinary  one.” 

“ The  most  extraordinary  part  is  to  come,  Lady 
Dunore  : for  after  all  had  died  away,  and  poor  Lord 
Fitzadelm  dead  with  the  rest,  and  your  son  Marquis 
of  Dunore,  and  everything  going  on  fair  and  aisy,  at 
the  end  of  three  and  twenty  years,  and  when  people 
were  thinking  of  nothing  at  all,  at  all,  the  story  is  re- 
vived again ; and  go  which  way  you  will,  there  is 
nothing  but  whispering  and  coshering,  more  particu- 
larly among  the  lower  orders,  that  the  son  of  Walter 
Lord  Fitzadelm  has  reappeared  to  several  persons, 
with  the  intent  of  making  good  his  claims  to  the  Du- 
nore estate  and  title,  and  of  throwing  out  your  lady- 
ship's sons,  the  most  noble  the  marquis,  and  his  bro- 
ther Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm.” 

To  this  observation,  a silence  of  many  minutes  suc- 
ceeded. Lady  Dunore  sat  thunderstruck,  with  a suc- 
cession of  strange  and  contradictory  emotions  hitting 
over  her  strongly  working  countenance.  There  was 
something  in  this  wild  and  romantic  tale  that  har- 
monized with  her  unregulated  imagination,  with  her 
love  for  the  marvellous,  and  her  passion  for  excessive 
sensation ; for  there  was  a probability  at  least  of  the 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


635 


story  being  true,  and  a chance  of  conflict  and  vicissi- 
tude, of  defeat  or  success,  which  flattered  her  feverish 
necessity  for  excitement,  exertion,  and  occupation  ; 
but  there  yet  remained  a sufficient  source  of  annoy- 
ance, apprehension,  and  anxiety,  to  counteract  emo- 
tions of  a more  fanciful  nature.  Old  Crawley  sat  de- 
liberately gazing  on  her,  his  hands  folded,  his  thumbs 
twirling,  his  round,  vulgar,  bronzed  face  in  strong 
relief  from  the  light  of  the  taper ; while  the  pale  and 
haggard  countenance  of  Lady  Dun  ore,  half  thrown  in 
shade  by  the  surrounding  darkness  of  the  spacious 
and  gloomy  apartment,  stood  opposed  in  picturesque 
contrast. 

At  last,  after  a long-drawn  inspiration,  Lady  Du- 
nore  again  exclaimed,  “ This  is  a most  extraordinary 
tale,  Mr.  Crawley.” 

“ It  is,  indeed,  Lady  Dunore,  mighty  extraordinary, 
if  it’s  true.” 

“ You  do  not  believe  it  is  so  ?” 

“ Believe  ! the  Lord  forbid  ! If  it  was  true,  my 
lady,  what  would  become  of  the  marquis  your  son  ? 
What  good  would  there  be  in  all  the  mortgages,  bar- 
gains, leases  and  purchases,  made  under  the  Black 
Baron  and  your  ladyship’s  dear  late  lord,  and  the 
present  marquis  ? Why,  if  it  was  proved  to  be  true, 
Lady  Dunore,  wouldn’t  it  be  the  murther  of  the 
world,  the  ruin  of  us  all  ? Sure  we  must  prove  it 
isn’t  true,  if  we  spend  the  last  tinpenny  we  have  in 
the  world.” 

“Prove  I Then  you  really  think  claims  will  be 
made — pretensions  urged  ?” 

“ I think,  $ud  is  certain  sure  of  it.  All  kinds  of 


536 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


manyeuvering  and  checanery’s  going  on  at  this  prisent 
moment  to  prove  it.” 

“ But  where — how — who  is  the  pretender  ?” 

Old  Crawley  passed  his  hand  over  his  face ; then 
looked  round,  as  if  he  feared  a witness  of  what  he 
wras  going  to  say.  He  drew  his  chair  closer  to  Lady 
Dunore,  and  continued  in  a low  tone,  “ Where  is  he  ? 
Why,  then,  for  all  I know,  Lady  Dunore,  he’s  under 
your  roof  at  this  moment.  Anyhow,  he  was  in  it 
this  evening.” 

Lady  Dunore’s  exclamation  almost  amounted  to  a 
scream ; and  Crawley,  terrified  at  the  vivacity  of  her 
emotions,  cried : 

“ Hush ! hush ! for  the  love  of  the  Lord.  Keep 
down  your  fine  feelings,  Lady  Dunore,  dear,  and 
smell  your  O-de-Lucy,  or  your  Sally-Volatile ; ’ and 
he  searched  her  reticule  for  a smelling  bottle,  which 
he  had  often  seen  her  use  under  any  agitation.  Hold- 
ing the  salts  to  her  nose  (for  Lady  Dunore,  like  all 
hysterical  persons,  became  violent  in  proportion  as 
she  was  noticed),  he  continued : 

“Aisy  now,  aisy,  Lady  Dunore,  honey!  what  will 
I do,  if  you  give  way  to  your  asterisks,  and  nobody 
up  in  the  house  to  get  you  as  much  as  a sup  of  water, 
or  a thimble  full  of  hartshorn  ?” 

The  effect  of  the  sal  volatile  which  he  poured  up 
her  nostrils  was  so  powerful  as  to  absorb  for  a mo- 
ment every  other  sensation;  and  when  she  could 
speak,  which  she  did  between  laughter  and  sobs,  she 
observed,  “Under  my  roof,  Mr.  Crawley!  The  kid- 
napped injured  son  of  Lord  Walter  Fitzadelm  under 
my  roof,  did  you  say  ?” 

“ Hot  at  all,  Lady  Dunore,  not  the  raal  son  of  Ba- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


537 


ron  Walter,  but  an  imposture,  a vagrant,  a rebel, 
who  came  and  bullied  me  in  my  own  house,  in  my 
sate  of  Mount  Crawley,  and  wanted  to  force  Count 
Fitzadelm  from  me,  and  refused  to  drink  the  1 Glo- 
rious and  immortal,’  and  snapped  at  Conway,  and 
put  his  commether  upon  Clotty,  and  passed  on  her 
for  a Methodist  preacher,  as  he  did  afterwards  upon 
your  ladyship  for  a great  officer  from  the  Yankees ; 
and  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  bastard,  saving 
your  ladyship’s  presence,  of  Judy  Laffim  (who  was 
first  nurse  to  the  young  Master  Fitzadelm  that  wa£ 
drowned),  a little  bit  of  a by-blow  of  my  lord’s,  a jew 
cV esprit,  as  the  French  says;  which  was  the  raison 
why  Lady  Fitzadelm  turned  her  away  when  she 
found  she  was  a forepaw  of  my  lord’s,  and  she  gave 
the  child  to  that  rebelly  thief  O’Leary’s  wife.  And 
now,  after  everybody  has  lost  sight  of  him,  that’s 
Micky  Laffan,  he  comes  to  pass  himself  for  the  raal 
young  lord  that  was  drownded,  and  he  goes  about 
chicaning  the  lower  orders  and  buying  them  over, 
and  conniving  with  Lady  Clancare,  his  great  crony, 
though  he  daren’t  let  on  to  know  her  here,  gallo- 
wanting  her  in  the  bogs,  and  getting  in  with  her  into 
every  cabin  in  the  barony,  and  showing  himself  as 
the  raal  Marquis  of  Dunore.  Isn’t  he  here  playing 
the  great  don  with  your  ladyship,  and  calling  him- 
self Gineral  Fitz waiter,  and  laying  down  the  law  to 
yez,  all  as  one  as  if  he  was  king  of  the  place  already  ? 
And  what’s  more,  my  lady,  Lady  Clancare  is  no 
more  sick  than  I am ; and  as  soon  as  the  curtain  was 
up  and  the  play  begun,  the  gineral  was  oft'  like  a 
shot,  and  Jemmy  Bryan,  who  never  loses  sight  of 
him,  followed  him  to  Castle  Macarthy.  Oh,  troth, 


538 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


it’s  little  of  your  ladyship’s  play  she’s  thinking ; no, 
but  of  her  own,  and  was  humming  you  all  the  time? 
for  the  devil  is  not  able  for  that  one,  the  Lord  par- 
don me !” 

This  information,  so  extraordinary,  so  out  of  all 
calculation,  had  the  effect  of  sobering  Lady  Dunore, 
and  of  giving  for  the  moment  a tinge  almost  of  ra- 
tionality to  her  ideas.  That  she  had  been  duped, 
deceived,  played  upon,  was  the  predominant  feeling 
of  her  mind ; deceived  by  Lady  Clancare,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  she  was  endeavoring  to  serve  her,  and  to 
forward  her  views ; and  she  turning  out  to  be  the 
agent  of  an  adventurer,  who  had  come  under  her 
roof  for  the  purpose  of  defrauding  and  dispossessing 
her  children  of  their  rank  and  property. 

“I  see  your  ladyship  is  a little  amazed,”  said 
Crawley. 

“ Amazed  !”  she  returned,  collectedly,  “ yes,  a lit- 
tle; but  not  confounded,  not  overcome,  as  you  shall 
find,  Mr.  Crawley.  You  shall  see  that  I can  shuffle, 
and  cut,  and  deal  my  cards  as  well  as  another;  you 
shall  find  that  neither  the  villany  of  an  impostor,  nor 
the  arts  of  an  adventuress,  shall  be  too  much  for  me. 
The  conspiracy  of  this  hero  and  heroine  is,  I sup- 
pose, a fair  subject  for  legal  prosecution,  but  that’s 
not  enough.  They  must  be  shown  up  upon  their 
own  scene  of  action,  and  it  will  go  hard  with  me  if  I 
don’t  make  examples  of  them.”  Her  eyes  darkened 
wTith  expected  vengeance  as  she  spoke. 

“ Why,  then,  see  here,  Lady  Dunore : divil  a bit, 
but  I give  you  credit  for  showing  a proper  spirit ; 
for  hasn't  that  fellow  made  you  the  talk  of  the  coun- 
try round  for  letting  him  into  the  castle,  when  not  a 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


539 


house  would  let  him  cross  the  threshold,  and  was 
obliged  to  take  up  bis  lodgings  with  that  marked 
man,  O’Leary,  because  the  Dunore  Arms  thought 
him  a suspicious  character  ?” 

“ I wish  we  had  your  son  Conway  here,”  said  the 
marchioness,  musing. 

“ Och  ! there’s  no  occasion  in  life  for  him.  Haven’t 
he  and  I been  holding  a council  of  war  in  Clotty’s 
room  while  the  play  was  going  on,  and  everything 
settled  and  planned  between  him  and  I,  and  only 
waiting  your  ladyship’s  veto,  as  the  Papists  say? 
I haven’t  come  from  Dublin  without  my  credentials, 
I’ll  ingage.” 

o o 

“ What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  Mr.  Crawley  ?” 

“ Why,  I mane,  that  I have  a warrant  to  bring  the 
body  of  this  young  gineral,  who  is  an  ould  soger,  to 
Dublin,  afore  the  Lord  Chief  Justice.” 

“ Oh  ! but  remember  your  last  warrant,  Mr.  Craw- 
ley. You  do  not  briller  par  la . You  must  not  again 
involve  us  in  your  ridiculous  mistakes  and  conspira- 
cies, and  things  in  Queen  Elizabeth’s  days.” 

“I’ll  ingage  there  is  no  fear,  Lady  Dunore,  and 
Judge  Aubrey  not  in  the  country  to  back  his  jacobin 
friends,  and  has  my  charges  made  out  in  due  form 
and  sworn  to.” 

“ Yfhat  charges,  pur  example  ?” 

“ Only  for  a trifle  of  murther,  that’s  all.” 

“ Murder  ?” 

“ Aye,  faith,  raal  and  undoubted  murther.  Didn’t 
your  ladyship  hear  Conway  read  out  o’  the  Hiber- 
nian Journal,  one  morning  at  breakfast,  of  a rising  in 
the  mountains  about  a still-hunting  party,  and  of  a 
fight  between  the  country  people  and  the  sogers,  and 

N 


540 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


a stranger  on  horseback  getting  among  them  to  set- 
tle the  difference,  as  it  was  to  appear,  and  taking 
part  in  the  disturbance,  and  a shot  fired,  and  a soger 
killed,  and  nobody  ever  able  to  tell  by  whom  until  a 
lad  turned  king’s  evidence  th’  other  day,  and  is  ready 
to  swear  that  this  gineral  was  the  murtherer;  that  he 
was  seen  going  into  a cabin  before  the  fight,  and. 
drinking  with  the  people,  and  saying  he  was  the  raal 
Lord  Dunore;  and  that  on  going  away,  under  pre- 
tence of  relieving  the  people,  who  were  very  poor, 
he  gave  them,  as  he  thought,  a golden  guinea,  which 
turned  out  to  be  a Spanish  coin,  the  very  same  that 
the  gineral  gave  your  ladyship  a prisint  for  card 
counters ; and  here  it  is,  and  a great  evidence  it  will 
be  on  the  trial.” 

So  saying,  he  produced  the  coin. 

“ This  is  most  extraordinary ! This  is  a special 
intervention  of  Providence ! It  is  indeed  the  same,” 
said  Lady  Dunore,  “ that  this  murderer  gave  me.” 

“ Now,”  said  old  Crawley,  “ a man  who  is  convict- 
ed of  murther,  and  I believe  we  have  witnesses 
enough  to  prove  that,  wull  have  but  a poor  chance 
of  proving  his  claims  to  a title  and  property  in  the 
possession  of  a noble  family  as  is  hand  and  glove 
with  the  ministry.” 

“ But  you  have  not  got  him  yet,”  said  Lady  Dunore, 
impatiently ; “ he  may  still  elude  us  all.” 

“ He  is  now,  I believe,  quietly  asleep  in  O Leary’s 
lodgings.  Jemmy  Bryan  saw  him  safe  home  at  half- 
past ten  from  Lady  Clancare’s,  and  then  came  here 
to  inform  Conway  of  it.  But  what  would  ail  your 
ladyship  but  to  write  him  a line  in  the  morning,  to 
beg  he  would  step  down  to  you,  as  you  are  unaisy 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


541 


about  Lord  Adelm,  whom  he  flatters  himself  he’s  bit 
fairly.” 

“ And  then  ?”  said  Lady  Dunore,  reddening  with 
the  ardor  of  her  newly-awakened  feelings. 

“And  then,  my  lady,  we’ll  just  nab  him  nately  as 
he  stands  all  alone  by  himself  in  your  ladyship’s 
dressing-room;  for  he  has  become  so  populous  with 
the  lower  orders  that  if  he  were  arrested  at  O’Leary’s, 
that  is  the  ringleader  of  the  country,  there  would  be 
a rising  of  every  ribbonman  and  every  functionary  in 
the  place  round.” 

“ No,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  whose  feelings,  all  per- 
sonal, had  nothing  but  private  vengeance  in  view, 
“ that  will  never  do ; I will  have  him  arrested  and  ex- 
posed in  the  presence  of  the  party  assembled  in  the 
castle  (whom  he  has  imposed  upon),  and  confronted 
with  that  artful  adventuress,  Lady  Clancare,  who  I 
now  see,  while  she  was  serving  her  paramour,  was 
upon  the  point  of  taking  in  poor,  dear  Lord  Rosbrin, 
persuading  me,  the  little  wretch ! that  she  did  it  to 
pique  that  Fitzwalter ; but  don’t  talk  of  her — it  mad- 
dens me  to  think  how  I have  been  duped,  laughed  at, 
played  upon;  and  that- ” 

“Now  keep  yourself  cool,  Lady  Dunore,  honey,” 
interrupted  Crawley,  fearful  of  a return  of  her  hys- 
teric paroxysm,  “ and  just  go  to  bed,  and ” 

“ I will  not  go  to  bed  till  I write  a note  of  invita- 
tion to  the  genera],  whom  we  shall  outgeneral  in  the 
end,  and  leave  it  to  be  sent  early  in  the  morning ; 
and,  as  to  the  Countess  of  Clancare,”  and  she  laughed 
hysterically,  “ a countess,  indeed  ! a gipsy  countess  1 
with  her  typhus  fever, — I will  have  the  honor  of  go- 


542 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


j 


ing  for  her  myself,  and  bringing  her,  vi  et  armis , to 
the  castle.” 

Cheered  by  this  resolution,  Lady  Dunore  now  took 
up  her  candle,  and  with  her  cheek  colorless,  her  eyes 
inflamed  and  staring,  and  her  head  wrapped  in  a lace 
veil,  she  not  inaptly  imaged  the  sleep-walking  and 
conscience-stricken  Lady  Macbeth.  Old  Crawley, 
meantime,  with  a tip-toe  step,  groped  his  way  by  the 
moonlight  to  the  bedroom  of  his  son,  who  had  sat  up 
to  receive  him,  and  learn  the  result  of  his  extraordi- 
nary interview  with  the  lady  of  the  castle. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

How  couldst  thou  find  this  dark,  sequestered  nook  7 

Milton. 

The  solemn  consequence  given  to  everything  con- 
nected with  the  drama  by  Lord  Rosbrin  had  ren- 
dered the  disappointment  occasioned  by  the  illness  or 
caprice  of  Lady  Clancare  an  event  of  the  most  im- 
portant and  mortifying  nature ; and  he  insisted  on  an- 
nouncing it  to  the  public  in  all  the  set  form  and 
phrase  usual  upon  such  occasions  in  the  public 
theatres.  He  came  forward,  therefore,  with  a coun- 
tenance in  which  he  hoped  “ men  would  read  strange 
things and,  after  a long  pause,  he  commenced  an 
apology  for  the  non-appearance  of  Lady  Clancare,  put 
forth  his  own  claims  to  indulgence  in  assuming,  by 
particular  desire,  and  for  that  night  only,  the  part  of 
Rosalind ; and  concluded  by  reading  aloud  the  letter 
of  the  comic  heroine,  to  whom  he  had  undertaken  to 
act  as  double . It  ran  as  follows  : 

“ My  Dear  Lady  Dunore  : — I am  obliged  to  decline 
the  pretty  part  of  the  fantastic  Rosalind  this  evening, 
for  one  of  a less  agreeable  nature ; and  I trust  you 
will  not  think  I am  playing  the  Malade  Imag inair e 
when  I assign  indisposition  as  an  excuse  for  my  ab- 
sence from  the  castle.  I 'would,  perhaps,  ask  you  to 
come  and  judge  for  yourself  of  my  situation,  but  that 


544 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


the  nature  of  my  feelings  at  this  moment,  and  my  re* 
cent  visits  to  a house  where  the  typhus  fever  rages, 
satisfy  me  that  it  would  be  as  unsafe  for  you,  as  em- 
barrassing to  me,  to  receive  you  at  Castle  Macarthy. 

“ I am,  my  dear  Lady  Dunore,  &c., 

“F.  Clancare.” 

The  apology  was  received  with  plaudits ; the  au- 
dience, better  pleased  with  the  Rosalind  which  chance 
and  folly  had  given  them,  than  with  the  Rosalind  of 
which  a dangerous  malady  had  deprived  them, 
“ bound  up  each  corporeal  faculty”  to  expected  mirth 
and  laughter. 

Miss  Crawley  declared  the  excuse  of  Lady  Clan- 
care  was  all  affectation,  and  assumed  importance ; and 
Lord  Frederick  observed  to  Lady  Georgiana  that  he 
saw  la  petite  personne  was,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  playing  another  part  than  that  assigned  her ; and 
that  it  was  very  clear  her  intention  had  never  been  to 
play  at  all. 

Contrary  to  his  first  intentions,  General  Fitzwalter 
found  himself  in  the  theatre  of  Dunore ; but  upon  the 
reading  of  Lady  Clancare’s  letter,  he  suddenly  disap- 
peared. The  carriage  in  which  he  had  arrived  had 
x’eturned  to  the  Dunore  Arms,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  roughness  of  a singularly  inclement  night,  he 
wrapped ' himself  up  in  a long  travelling  cloak,  lent 
him  by  one  of  the  grooms  of  the  chamber,  and  pro- 
ceeded on  foot  to  Castle  Macarthy. 

He  found  and  ascended  with  difficulty  the  little 
defile  in  the  cliffs  through  which  Lady  Clancare’s 
maid  had  formerly  led  him  to  the  strand ; and  when 
he  stood  before  the  gates  of  Castle  Macarthy,  he  felt 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


545 


that  there  also  was  the  silence  of  dreary  sequestra- 
tion, and  of  desolate  privacy.  A faint  stream  of  light 
issued  from  the  half-open  portals  of  the  hall.  He  en- 
tered, without  finding  any  human  being  to  impede 
his  steps  or  to  announce  his  arrival. 

A flickering  rush-light  stood  upon  the  old  stone 
table ; and  its  expiring  ray  flashed  upon  the  skeleton 
wolf’s  head  that  hung  suspended  above  it,  and  then 
sunk  and  died  into  utter  darkness.  Fitzwalter  stood 
for  a moment,  his  hand  resting  on  the  table,  on  which 
the  rain,  dropping  through  the  roof,  fell  with  heavy 
plashes.  Unable  to  proceed,  his  feelings  all  tumult, 
his  spirits  depressed,  one  image,  gloomy,  painful,  and 
affecting,  still  occupied  his  mind.  The  young,  friend- 
less mistress  of  this  silent  and  dreary  dwelling — she 
who  so  late  had  appeared  beyond  the  reach  of  suffer- 
ing, so  brilliant,  so  wooed  and  won  by  adulation  and 
attention,  now  neglected,  abandoned,  unpitied,  was 
left  on  a bed  of  sickness,  by  those  to  whom  her  spirit 
and  talents  had  recently  afforded  occupation,  and  sup- 
plied amusement — no  eye  to  watch  her,  no  tongue  to 
soothe  her,  no  hand  to  seek  the  feverish  pressure  of 
hers.  All  her  follies,  all  her  faults  (if  the  conduct 
which  had  thwarted  his  passion  could  be  so  construed), 
were  forgotten ; and  nothing  was  now  remembered, 
not  even  her  talents,  her  charms,  save  the  unpitied 
situation  to  which  her  too  intrepid  benevolence  had 
reduced  her. 

Almost  suffocating  from  excess  of  emotion,  still 
struggling  with  himself,  in  the  midst  of  darkness  and 
of  silence,  he  hesitated  as  to  the  manner  in  which  he 
should  seek  to  announce  himself,  when  the  heavy 
creaking  of  a door,  slowly  shut,  footsteps  approach- 


540 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ing,  and  a faint  flash  of  light,  proceeding  from  the 
narrow,  dark,  stone  passage  which  led  to  the  sitting- 
room  he  had.  once  occupied,  caught  his  attention.  A 
man  advanced,  holding  a dark  lantern;  the  light, 
turned  on  himself,  burnished  his  face  and  figure  with 
its  yellow  rays,  and  threw  them  into  strong  relief. 
He  was  humming  an  old  melancholy  Irish  croon,  and 
proceeded  cautiously  across  the  hall  to  the  door,  with- 
out perceiving  the  general,  whose  dark  figure  and  garb 
were  confounded  with  the  profound  shadows  of  the 
place.  The  full  and  strongly  lighted  view  of  his  per- 
son instantly  awakened  a perfect  recognition  in  the 
general’s  mind.  It  was  the  Rabragh. 

“ Owny !”  he  exclaimed,  advancing  eagerly,  and 
seizing  his  arm.  Owny  dropped  his  lantern  from  one 
hand,  and  a letter  which  he  carried  from  the  other ; 
and  clasping  both,  muttered  a broken  Ave  Maria  in 
utter  consternation  and  superstitious  fear,  the  only 
fear  by  which  his  hardy  spirit  was  assailable. 

“ Do  you  not  remember  ?”  asked  Fitzwalter,  in  an 
impatient  tone,  and  letting  go  his  arm.  “ You  cannot 
have  forgotten  the  traveller  whom  you  drove  from 
Oashel,  bewildered  in  the  Galties,  and  imprisoned  in 
Court  Fitzadelm.” 

The  habitual  gaiety  of  the  Rabragh’s  countenance, 
and  the  natural  ruddiness  of  his  complexion,  returned 
together ; and  picking  up  his  lantern,  and  turning  it 
full  on  the  apparition  which  had  scared  him  into  the 
belief  that  he  stood  in  the  unearthly  presence  of  the 
famous  Macarthy-More,  he  replied,  with  a smile  : 

“ Know  your  honor,  is  it,  sir  ? May  be  I don’t ; 
and  never  will  forget  you,  till  the  hour  of  my  death, 
if  I was  to  live  a thousand  years  and  more ; and  took 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


547 


you  now  for  ould  Fogh-na-gael , in  regard  of  the  sur- 
prise, sir,  and  the  place,  and  the  ould  shanaos,  sir.  And 
sure  wasn't  I going  to  your  honor  this  very  minute, 
with  a letter  for  you  from  the  Bhan  Tierna,  long  life 
to  her  ladyship  ! and  if  I didn’t  find  you  at  O’Leary's, 
was  to  follow  you  to  the  castle,  and  lurk  about  till 
you  came  out,  sir,  and  slip  this  into  your  hand,  sir ; 
and  thinks  it  great  luck,  plaze  God,  to  find  you  in  it 
here.” 

During  this  speech  the  general  had  opened  the  let- 
ter alluded  to,  and  read  as  follows : 

“You  stand  accused  of  murder.  Depositions  to 
this  effect  have  been  laid  against  you,  by  one  who,  in 
betraying  the  circumstance  to  his  comrade,  the  noted 
Padreen  Gar,  persists  in  its  veracity.  Officers  of 
justice  are  furnished  with  a warrant  to  take  you. 
Though  your  conscience  be  at  rest,  confide  not  in 
your  innocence,  for  you  are  powerfully  beset.  A 
chaise,  with  a driver  on  whom  you  may  depend, 
will  be  ready  to  receive  you  at  three  in  the  morning, 
and  conduct  you  to  a port,  from  whence  you  may 
sail.  Announce  your  arrival  and  future  intentions  to 
La-dy  Clancare,  they  will  then  securely  and  speedily 
reach  your  wife. 

“Florence  Macarthy. 

“ This  for  the  present  is  all  the  answer  I can  return 
to  your  letter,  and  its  general  proposal.” 

Fitzwalter  read  this  letter  twice,  with  a confusion 
of  ideas  and  feelings  that  scarcely  left  him  power  to 
comprehend  its  contents.  The  increasing  paleness 
of  his  cheek,  the  rolling  of  his  eye,  the  tremulous  mo- 
tion of  his  under  lip,  fixed  the  shrewd  but  sympathiz- 
ing gaze  of  the  Rabragh,  as  he  held  up  the  lantern 


548 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


before  him ; and,  as  the  general  stood  silent  and  mo- 
tionless, he  observed  significantly : 

“ Hasn’t  your  honor  better  step  into  the  dining- 
parlor,  sir,  and  see  the  countess  herself?  and  ingages, 
if  she  backs  you,  sir,  sorrow  taste  there  is  to  fear. 
And  didn’t  she  save  my  life,  sir,  intirely,  when  I fell 
into  trouble,  and  none  to  take  my  part  against  the 
Crawleys,  only  God  and  her  ladyship,  sir.  Shall  I 
show  your  honor  the  way?”  and  he  stepped  lightly 
on  before.  Fitzwalter  followed  mechanically,  and, 
as  the  door  stood  half  open,  Owny  pointed  to  it,  and 
retired. 

The  unexpected  visitant  paused  at  the  threshold, 
and  the  interior  of  the  apartment  was  exposed  to 
his  view.  It  was  dimly  lighted  by  a rude  lamp  which 
stood  on  the  table,  before  which  Lady  Clancare  sat 
writing.  Her  appearance  almost  justified  the  account 
she  had  given  of  herself ; for  her  unusual  paleness  of 
complexion  was  accompanied  by  the  worn,  anxious, 
and  exhausted  look  of  one  who  suffered  much.  One 
hand  was  spread  and  pressed  upon  the  forehead 
it  supported ; the  other  was  guiding  her  pen  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning  : while  at  intervals  she 
raised  her  head,  addressing  the  interrogatory  of 
“ well,”  to  a person  who  appeared  dictating  to  her  in 
Irish.  He  presented  a gaunt  tall  figure,  and  fearful 
aspect ; but  he  stood  with  his  head  uncovered  at  a 
respectful  distance,  and  traces  of  a reverential  feeling 
softened  the  harsh  lines  of  his  wild  and  marked 
countenance.  It  was  Padreen  Gar.  In  another  part 
of  the  room  Lady  Clancare’s  youthful  attendant,  as- 
sisted by  an  old  woman,  was  engaged  in  packing  up 
a small  travelling-trunk.  Struck  by  a combination 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


549 


s 6 extraordinary,  by  the  peculiar  situation  of  Lady 
Clancare,  and  by  the  presence  of  her  singular  asso- 
ciates, Fitzwalter  stood  for  a moment  unnoticed,  and 
wrapped  in  profound  observation ; when  the  eyes  of 
Lady  Clancare  suddenly  and  accidentally  turning  to 
the  spot  where  he  stood,  with  his  dark  pale’  coun- 
tenance just  visible  above  the  cloak  which  wrapped 
his  figure,  she  uttered  a faint  exclamation,  smiled,  at- 
tempted to  rise,  and  would  have  sunk  to  the  earth, 
but  that  the  arms  of  Fitzwalter  received  her,  with  a 
clasp  that  seemed  almost  indissoluble. 

Her  efforts  to  rally  back  her  fading  spirits  and  de- 
clining strength  were  instantaneously  successful.  She 
resumed  her  seat,  affected  to  laugh  away  her  weak- 
ness, ascribed  it  to  exhaustion  and  surprise  ; and  then 
having  abruptly  observed  that  General  Fitzwalter 
could  not  yet  have  received  the  letter  she  had  dis- 
patched to  him,  she  turned  to  her  attendants,  desired 
her  maid  to  wait  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  dismissed 
Padreen  Gar  and  the  old  woman  till  they  should  be 
called  for.  All  this  was  done  rapidly  but  collectedly, 
and  was  observed  by  Fitzwalter  with  silent  amaze- 
ment ; for  the  feverish  hectic  that  burnt  in  a red  spot 
on  one  of  her  cheeks  convinced  him  that  the  excuse 
she  had  made  for  her  non-appearance  at  the  Castle  of 
fDunore  was  not  without  foundation.  He  took  her* 
hand  with  emotion ; and  as  he  applied  his  fingers  to 
its  throbbing  pulse,  she  gayly  observed,  while  she 
struggled  to  release  it,  “ Oh,  you  are  not  to  believe  a 
word  it  tells  you.  I have  no  leisure  to  be  ill  now ; 
nor  shall  I have  time  to  die,  these  twenty  years;  then, 
indeed,  having  retired  from  the  world,  with  the  first 
wrinkle,  and  moped  through  a few  years  of  age  and 


550 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ugliness,  I may  some  day  or  other  be  around  here 
dead  of  the  sullens,  like  an  old  bird  in  its  cage.” 

“ But  you  are  ill,”  he  replied,  anxiously:  “your 
hand  burns,  your  complexion  varies.  Where  is  there 
a physician  ? Have  you  not  sent  for  assistance  ?” 

“ What  ?”  she  said  laughing,  “ my  equivoque  of  the 
typhus  fever  succeeded  with  you,  as  well  as  the  rest? 
But  in  that  case,  if  I am  indeed  imagined  ill,  where 
are  all  my  ‘ friends  fast  sworn,’  my  admirers,  my  Or- 
landos, my  Solymans ! Ha ! not  even  Vamie  d'hon- 
neur ! my  dear  Lady  Dunore  ! Then  have  I touched  t 
the  highest  point  of  all  my  greatness, 

‘ And  from  the  full  meridian  of  my  glory 
I haste  now  to  my  setting 

so  sit  down,  General  Fitzwalter,  and  tell  me  how  it 
comes,  that  1 left  and  abandoned  by  my  velvet  friends,’ 
you,  who  never  ranged  yourself  among  their  number, 
have  deserted  the  festive  hall  of  pleasure,  to  seek  the 
supposed  infectious  air  of  these  ruined  towers  ?” 

“ You  suffer  and  are  here,”  he  replied  eagerly,  and 
taking  a hand,  which  she  now  struggled  not  to  with- 
draw— 

“ You  did  not  then,  of  course,  receive  the  letter 
which  I have  just  dispatched  to  you  from  your  guar- 
dian angel,  from  Florence  Macarthy  ?” 

• Fitzwalter  let  fall  her  hand,  and  after  a moment’s 
pause,  replied,  “Yes:  but  that  is  not  the  question 
now.  Will  you  permit  me  to  go  to  Dunore  for  such 
medical  advice  as  I can  procure  ? or,  if  you  prefer 
sending  your  mysterious  agent,  Owny,  whom  I left 
in  your  hall,  and  who  has  been  employed  in  the  ser- 
vice of  a life  much  less  valuable  than  your  own 

“ No,  no,”  she  interrupted,  “ I am  not  ill.  I do  not 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


551 


deceive  yon.  I am  harassed,  anxious,  a little  ex- 
hausted, and  burning  more  with  indignation  than 
fever.  With  your  life,  the  life  of  any  human  being 
at  stake ; with  the  happiness,  the  existence  of  Flor- 
ence Macarthy  in  my  hands — is  her  name,  then,  so 
abhorrent  to  your  ears  that  you  turn  thus  in  disgust 
away  ?” 

“ You  have  not  chosen  your  moment  wisely ; but  I 
am  ready  to  fulfil  my  engagement  to  that  lady,'’  in- 
terrupted Fitzwalter,  vehemently,  and  starting  from 
his  chair.  “ I will  marry  her,  protect  her,  and  while 
I live,  live  with  her.  What  more  does  she  require, 
or  do  you  demand,  Lady  Clancare  ?” 

He  paused,  and  fixed  his  stern  eyes  on  a counte- 
nance marked  by  the  profoundest  agitation. 

“ I require  !— I have  no  right  to  require  anything. 
I speak  in  her  behalf,  not  in  my  own.  Oh  ! you  know 
not,’’  she  continued,  with  a supplicating  earnestness, 
“ the  devotion  with  which  she  has  pursued  you — si- 
lently, unobtrusively  pursued  you.  You  know  not 
what  zeal  she  has  displayed,  what  ingenuity  she  has 
exerted,  to  keep  you  within  her  view  : to  behold  you, 
to  listen  to  you,  to  study  you,  to  obtain  you.” 

“ Well,”  said  Fitzwalter,  throwing  himself  back  in 
his  chair,  u she  has  succeeded — I am  hers.  I acknow- 
ledge her  worth ; in  time  I trust  I shall  feel  it,” — and 
he  sighed  profoundly. 

u Her  worth  ”’  replied  Lady  Clancare  ; “ ’tis  of  her 
love  I speak,  and  of  all  the  romantic  energy  which 
has  accompanied  it.  It  was  her  determination,  when 
she  heard  of  your  captivity,  to  return  to  South  Ame- 
rica, to  endeavor  to  effect  your  escape,  or  to  share 
your  dungeon ; for  the  woman  is  unworthy  the  sacred 


552 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


name  of  wife  who  is  not  prepared  to  follow  the  hus- 
band of  her  choice  and  her  affections  to  slavery,  to 
death ; oh  ! more  than  all,  to  follow,  to  cling  to  him 
even  in  shame,  in  ignominy.  Nay,  hear  me  out,  and 
look  not  thus  on  me.  The  report  of  your  escape  had 
reached  her  when  she  was  on  the  point  of  embarking 
from  England,  to  share,  or  offer  to  share,  your  des- 
tiny. Then  she  lost  sight  of  you  until  you  presented 
yourself  to  her  eyes  in  Ireland,  breathing  the  same 
air,  inhabiting  the  same  room,  exchanging  glances, 
yet  still  instinctively  shrinking  from  her.  Ila ! you 
start.  It  will  not  lessen  your  surprise  to  learn  that 
Florence  Macarthy  was  the  rejected,  the  formidable 
Mrs.  Magillicuddy,  something  disguised,  indeed,  and 
changed.  You  laugh  incredulously.  But  love  would 
have  recognized  its  object,  even  under  that  conceal- 
ment. Young,  well-looking,  and  unprotected,  she 
has  often  sought  safety  during  her  inevitable  wander- 
ings in  the  assumption  of  age  and  ugliness.  Her 
flexibility  of  voice,  and  mobility  of  countenance  and 
gesture,  her  powers  of  imitation,  and  acquaintance 
with  the  character  she  assumed,  favored  her  dis- 
guise. 

“ But  your  intercourse  stopped  not  here.  It  was 
she  who  contrived  tp  play  upon  the  vanity  and  cre- 
dulity of  Lord  Adelm,  whom  she  had  once  seen  in 
Spain,  whom  she  had  afterwards  seen  in  England, 
though  unnoticed  by  one  so  self-occupied  and  self-in- 
volved. It  was  she  who  summoned  him  from  Portu- 
gal— at  once  avenging  a friend  she  had  dearly  loved, 
whom  he  had  sacrificed,  and  making  him  an  instru- 
ment in  her  own  schemes.  Hers  was  the  irrepressi- 
ble sigh,  tlae  malignant  laugh  in  the  ruins  of  Holy- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


553 


cross.  It  was  she  who  placed  you  in  the  Fitzadelm 
chaise,  under  the  guidance  of  her  agent,  the  liabragh, 
had  you  carried  to  Lis-na-sleugh,  where  her  know- 
ledge of  the  Spanish  language  put  her  in  possession 
of  your  views  and  intentions.  Thus  she  anticipated 
you  at  Court  Fitzadelm,  imprisoned  you,  to  afford 
herself  time  for  escape ; and  provided  you  a lodging 
at  O’Leary’s  by  an  equivoque  of  which  he  was  the 
dupe.  From  that  moment  you  became  my  charge. 
The  proximity  of  your  residence  favored  the  trust  I 
embraced.  Acquainted  with  your  departure  for 
Cork,  your  intended  return  to  Dunore,  and  with  the 
arrest  which  waited  you  there,  I was  enabled  to  for- 
ward the  views  of  Florence  Macarthy  by  witnessing 
your  first  appearance  in  the  Castle  of  Dunore,  to  ef- 
fect which,  as  much  as  to  surprise  the  favor  of  Lady 
Dunore,  I suffered  myself  to  be  taken  prisoner  by  Mr. 
Costello,  and  even  paid  him  for  his  trouble.  It  was  I 
who  kept  your  friend  Lord  Adelm  in  play,  by  drop- 
ping the  handkerchief,  whose  initials  first  discovered 
to  you  the  residence  of  Florence  Macarthy  in  Ire- 
land, and  which  again  brought  on  a negotiation  by 
means  scarcely  calculated  on.  I see  you  are  amazed, 
confounded,  stunned,  because  the  omnipotence  which 
belongs  to  the  affections  of  a devoted  woman  is  un- 
known to  your  sex ; still  less  can  you  judge  of  its  dis- 
interestedness, of  its  power  to  abnegate  self,  to  con- 
found its  identity  with  the  object  beloved.  It  is  you, 
you  alone,  Florence  Macarthy  prizes.  It  is  for  your- 
self you  are  estimated ; and  now,  ignorant  of  all  con  ■ 
cerning  you,  save  the  part  you  recently  played  in 
America,  beholding  you  in  this  remote  place,  wrapped 
in  mystery,  suspected,  accused,  your  life  in  danger, 


554 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


whatever  may  be  your  innocence  or  fate,  that  fate 
she  is  ready  to  share  with  you.” 

“ I cannot,  dare  not  hear  you  on,”  interrupted  Fitz- 
walter,  in  a burst  of  passion  amounting  to  agony. 
“ Why  should  I deceive  her,  you,  myself?  ‘Tis  not 
on  Florence  Macarthy  my  thoughts  are  bent,  admira- 
ble and  wonderful  as  you  paint  her.  ’Tis  on  you  my 
existence  at  this  moment  depends;  my  soul,  my 
senses,  my  life  are  yours.  ’Tis  on  your  eloquence  I 
hang,  on  your  countenance  I gaze,  on  your  eyes  I 
look.  I confound  you  with  her,  and  become  un- 
worthy of  both.  Were  you  this  devoted  creature 
whose  cause  you  plead — spoke  you,  looked  you  thus 
for  yourself,  the  struggle  would  be  at  once  decided. 
Florence  Macarthy  should  not  be  deceived,  nor  I.  In 
a word,  Lady  Clancare,  I love  you  to  madness,  to 
folly,  to  dishonor;  you,  only  you,  against  my  bet- 
ter reason,  my  happiness  and  sense  of  rights  Now, 
then,  knowing  my  state  of  feeling,  speak  on  if  you 
will;  but  remember  I do  not  answer  for  myself. 
Every  word  you  utter,  every  sigh  you  breathe,  every 
glance  you  emanate  in  another’s  cause,  confirms  my 
crime,  and  devotes  me  to  yourself.  Were  you  the 
creature  you  paint  another,  were  you  capable  of  this 

devotion,  this  zeal,  and  for  me ” 

“ I am  capable  of  it,”  interrupted  Lady  Clancare, 
breathlessly,  and  clasping  her  hands  in  passionate 
emotion,  while  she  half  averted  her  face  to  conceal 
its  expression.  “ Could  I thus  describe,  if  I had  not 
felt?  In  pleading  the  cause  of  Florence  Macarthy, 
see  you  not  that  I but  delineated  my  own  feelings, 
my  own  strong,  tender,  and  indestructible  emotions. 
You  say  you  love  me,  and  I dare  not  doubt  it.  You 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


555 


deny  not  your  danger ; I am  ready  to  share  it ; this 
is  no  moment  for  details;  let  it  suffice  to  know  that 
she  who  thus  throws  herself  on  you  is — ” she  paused, 
turned  away  her  head,  while  Fitzwalter  encircled  her 
half  retreating  form  with  his  arms,  and  hung  wildly 
over,  “ is — Florence  Macarthy  !” 

His  arms  lost  their  power  of  supporting  her,  and 
he  sunk  motionless  upon  the  chair,  from  which  she 
had  just  arisen ; while  lady  Clancare  after  a moment’s 
struggle,  turning  full  round,  fixed  her  eyes  on  him 
with  that  expression  of  triumph  with  which  she  had 
first  received  him  where  she  now  stood,  and  gently 
putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  said,  “ Now,  infidel, 
I have  you  on  the  hip.” 


The  story  of  Florence  Macarthy,  Countess  of  Clan- 
care,  the  daughter  of  Colonel  Macarthy-More,  whose 
life  had  been  sacrificed  in  the  South  American  cause 
had  already  been  gradually  detailed,  and  little  was 
left  to  reveal.  The  story  of  her  kinswoman,  Florence 
Macarthy  Reagh,  a Spanish  nun,  resident  in  the  Con- 
vent of  Our  Lady  of  the  Annunciation,  as  partly  re- 
lated by  O’Leary,  had  given  rise  to  that  qui  pro  quo 
which  had  enabled  Lady  Clancare  to  follow  up  her 
innocent  schemes  on  the  heart  of  him  she  considered 
as  her  husband,  while  apparently  acting  as  the  agent 
of  another.  Florence  Macarthy  Reagh  was  the  young 
boarder  of  Nuestra  Senora  de  las  Angustias,  to  whom 
the  eccentric  Lord  Fitzadelm  had  addressed  his  love 
“ Stealing  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith, 

And  never  a true  one,” 

and  who  had  since  expiated  her  credulity  by  years  of 
religious  sacrifice.  Misled  by  the  embroidered  hand- 


556 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY, 


kerchief,  and  by  O’Leary’s  description  of  its  owner, 
Lord  Adelm  had  flown  to  her  convent,  and,  in  the 
person  of  the  mistress  he  had  abandoned,  sought  the  ! 
invisible  torment  who  had  so  long  eluded  him.  He 
arrived  at  the  convent  the  day  preceding  that  on 
which  his  supposed  sylph  was*  to  take  the  veil ; and 
the  certainty  of  not  obtaining  her,  increased  his  ideal  > 
and  romantic  passion  to  the  desperate  height  of  pro- 
posing, unknown,  unseen,  to  marry  her.  The  answer 
to  this  proposition  revealed  the  name  and  story  of 
the  person  he  addressed,  and  inclosed  a drawing  of 
a cenotaph,  on  which  was  inscribed 

“ Sic  me  Phoebus  amat.” 

For  the  rest,  he  was  informed  that  his  proposal  should 
be  forwarded  to  Mrs.  Mary  Magillicuddy,  the  person 
whose  invisible  but  ardent  attentions  had  induced 
him  to  make  it. 

Florence  Macarthy  Reagh,  though  much  of  the 
saint,  was  more  of  the  woman;  and  in  spite  of  her- 
self, secretly  rejoiced  in  the  innocent  vengeance  pro- 
cured her  by  the  playful  agency  of  her  cousin,  who,  * 
like  the  rest  of  her  sex,  made  common  cause,  and 
conceived  an  injury  done  to  one  woman  a slight  to  all. 

The  town  clock  of  Dunore  had  struck  eleven  as  , 
General  Fitzwalter,  dogged  by  Jemmy  Bryan,  reached 
his  tower  of  Monaster-ny-Oriel ; and  O’Leary,  who 
had  been  watching  his  return,  expressed  his  amaze- 
ment at  his  doing  so,  on  foot,  in  so  dreary  a night,  - 
and  informed  him,  with  a mysterious  air,  that  things 
were  getting  wind,  and  that  Lord  Adelm  was  just 
arrived  at  Monaster-ny-Oriel  a few  moments  before, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


557 


O’Sullivan  was  also,  as  he  said,  to  his  utter  amaze- 
ment, returned  to  his  lodgment  in  the  tower,  and 
was  now  solus  cum  solo  with  the  young  lord. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


Yea,  even  that  which  mischief  meant  most  harm, 

Shall,  in  the  happy  trial,  prove  most  goodly. 

Evil  on  itself  shall  back  recoil. 

Milton. 

The  following  morning,  an  hour  after  sunrise,  the 
ruined  chapel  of  Monaster-ny-Oriel  exhibited  a singu- 
lar and  unusual  scene : for  before  the  high  altar,  at 
whose  feet  reposed  the  ashes  of  the  great  chief, 
Macarthy-More,  the  young  descendant  and  inheritor 
of  his  title  and  name  gave  her  hand  to  the  represen- 
tative of  his  hereditary  enemies.  The  ceremony  was 
performed  by  the  Reverend  Denis  O’Sullivan,  titular 
Dean  of  Dunore,  assisted  by  the  parish  priest.  The 
Protestant  rector,  who  was  to  repeat  the  rites,  ac- 
cording to  the  forms  of  the  Protestant  Church  (the 
parties  being  of  different  persuasions),  also  attended 
at  Lady  Clancare’s  particular  request,  to  represent 
her  grandfather,  to  whom  he  had  been  a fast  firm 
friend,  and  to  give  her  away.  The  only  persons  pre- 
sent upon  the  occasion  were  O’Leary,  who,  between 
every  response,  muttered  some  part  of  Friar  Con’s 
prophecy;  and  Lady  Clancare’s  maid,  who  was  her 
foster-sister.  Lord  Adelm,  who  had  passed  the  night 
in  a conference  with  General  Fitzwalter,  to  which 
Mr.  O’Sullivan  was  latterly  admitted,  had  left 
O’Leary’s  before  daylight,  informed  of  the  event 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


559 


which  was  about  to  take  place,  but  declining  being 
present,  from  feelings  originating  in  his  actual  state 
of  mind,  the  mortification  he  had  recently  undergone, 
*and  some  well-grounded  suspicions  of  the  share  Lady 
Clancare  had  contributed  to  it. 

The  celebration  of  the  wedding  of  the  Bhan  Tierna 
in  the  chapel  of  Monaster-ny-Oriel,  some  vague  re- 
ports that  the  distinguished  stranger  on  whom  she 
was  bestowing  her  hand  was  the  real  and  long-lost 
Marquis  of  Dunore,  had  circulated  with  incredible 
celerity,  and  the  old  Fitzadelm  chaise,  with  four 
horses  in  attendance  at  the  gates  of  the  cemetery, 
the  white  cockade  mounted  in  the  Rabragh’s  hat, 
who  rode  proudly  on  the  coach-box,  a similar  distinc- 
tion in  the  caubeea  of  Padreen  Gar,  who  had  forcibly 
dismounted  the  ragged  postilion,  and  thrown  his  huge 
limbs  over  the  back  of  the  leader,  and  a chaise  and 
pair  in  attendance  for  the  countess’s  maid  and  O’Leary, 
all  served  to  confirm  the  hints 

“ Loud  rumor  spoke.” 

By  the  time,  therefore,  that  the  bridal  party  issued 
from  amidst  the  gray  ruins  of  the  abbey,  a multitude 
of  persons,  with  the  whole  population  of  Clotnotty- 
joy,  had  assembled  round  the  gates,  and  shouts  of 
joyous  emotion,  mingled  with  the  cry  of  the  Macar- 
thies  and  Fitzadelms,  rent  the  air. 

Lady  Clancare,  as  she  ascended  the  carriage,  ad- 
dressed a few  words  to  those  nearest  to  her : she 
said  she  was  about  to  leave  them  for  a short  time,  but 
she  trusted  it  was  only  to  return,  with  the  power,  as 
well  as  the  will  she  had  always  felt,  to  be  of  use  to 
them ; she  recommended  sobriety,  industry,  and 
peaceable  conduct ; and  amidst  fresh  shouts  of  appro- 


560 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


bation  and  joy  was  placed  in  the  carriage  by  the  Ca- 
tholic Dean  and  Protestant  Rector. 

The  cavalcade  was  now  taking  the  road  to  Cork, 
still  followed  by  the  multitude,  when  a party  of  mili- 
tary, led  on  by  several  officers  of  the  civil  power, 
commanded  the  drivers  to  stop;  and  General  Fitz- 
walter  was  arrested  in  the  name  and  on  behalf  of  his 
majesty  the  king.  The  arrest  was  instantly  observed 
by  the  peasantry,  who  prepared  to  resist  it  with  their 
usual  uncalculating  warmth,  while  Padreen  Gar,  still 
mounted  on  the  foremost  horse,  rose  his  gaunt  figure 
from  the  stirrups,  and  cast  round  a significant  look, 
which  operated  like  electricity. 

In  a moment  the1  scattered  multitude,  contracted 
into  a close  phalanx,  rushed  with  one  impulsion 
through  the  military  party,  and  environed  the  chaise : 
stones  and  turf-sods,  suddenly  torn  up,  flails  and 
scythes  brandished  in  the  air,  and  countenances  fixed, 
stern,  resolute,  and  ferocious,  declared  the  event  of 
an  intended  rescue.  In  a momentary  pause,  Fitz- 
walter  (sternly,  as  one  accustomed  to  command),  Mr. 
O'Sullivan  (mildly,  as  one  accustomed  to  conciliate), 
endeavored  to  address  the  mob,  and  induce  them  to 
return  quietly  to  their  work  or  their  homes ; both 
were  only  answered  by  shrill  wild  shouts,  which 
convinced  them  of  the  inefficiency  of  their  inter- 
ference. 

The  military  loaded  their  pieces,  but  behaved  with 
great  moderation,  till  urged  by  the  interference  of 
the  civil  officers,  who  ordered  them  to  disperse  the 
mob,  vi  et  armis , when  a general  engagement  was 
about  to  take  place ; but  the  voice  and  interference 
of  Lady  Clancare  produced  an  effect,  as  unexpected 


FLORENCE  MACARTHT. 


561 


as  singular.  She  addressed  them  in  Irish — it  was 
evidently  neither  in  command  nor  supplication. 
Whatever  she  said  produced  bursts  of  laughter  and 
applause;  every  eye,  flashing  humor  and  derision, 
was  turned  on  the  constables  and  their  satellites. 
A new  impulse  seemed  to  be  given  to  the  susceptible 
feelings  of  the  auditory  she  addressed.  Rage  was 
turned  to  contempt;  anticipated  triumph  shone  in 
every  eye.  They  drew  back,  suffered  the  military  to 
close  round  the  carriage,  dropped  their  missiles,  and 
followed  in  regular  order  the  track  of  the  carriages, 
as  they  now  proceeded  to  the  Castle  of  Dun  ore. 

“ There  are  two  and  but  two  short  roads,”  said 
Lady  Clancare,  smiling,  “ to  Irish  feelings- — pathos  or 
humor ; you  may  weep  or  laugh  them  out  of  any- 
thing.” 

Notwithstanding  the  earliness  of  the  hour,  every 
window,  every  loophole  in  the  Castle  of  Dunore  was 
crowded,  when  the  bridal  carriage  and  its  singular 
cavalcade  wound  up  its  gloomy  court ; and  when  the 
party  (evidently  expected)  alighted  in  the  hall,  and 
were  received  and  conducted  by  the  grooms  of  the 
chamber  to  the  saloon,  Lord  Adelm  stood  at  the 
door.  He  appeared  pale,  and  much  worn  in  his  ap- 
pearance ; but  he  came  anxiously  forward,  and  ob- 
served in  a low  voice  to  Fitz waiter,  “ It  is  unneces- 
sary to  say  I am  unprepared  for  this.  I knew  nothing 
of  it.  I have  had  a few  minutes’  conference  with  my 
mother.  Reports  of  your  story  have  reached  her 
through  the  Crawlcys,  distorted,  however,  and  vague ; 
act  now  as  you  please,  but  spare  the  memory  of  my 
father  for  my  sake.” 

Fitz  waiter  wrung  his  hand  in  expressive  silence, 


562 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


and  the  whole  party  entered  the  saloon  together. 
Lady  Clancare,  supported  by  her  husband’s  arm,  and 
partly  veiled  by  the  Spanish  mantilla,  which  fell  from 
her  head  over  her  whole  frame,  excited  evident 
amazement  by  her  presence. 

The  titular  Dean  of  Dunore  followed,  accompanied 
by  the  Rector;  and  the  wildly  expressive  counte- 
nance of  the  agitated  O’Leary,  agitated  almost  to  the 
return  of  his  former  malady,  and  the  black  rough 
head  and  grim  visage  of  Padreen  Gar,  were  seen 
among  the  many  curious  faces  which  filled  up  the 
door. 

The  saloon  was  already  occupied  by  all  the  guests 
of  the  castle,  with  the  exception  of  Lord  Rosbrin, 
and  some  of  the  corps  dramatique , who  were  either 
wearied  beyond  the  power  of  being  roused  at  so  un- 
reasonable an  hour,  or  had  no  inclination  to  appear 
on  a scene,  in  which  they  were  not  to  act  the  princi- 
pal part  themselves.  The  summonses,  however,  of 
Lady  Dunore  had  been  given  to  all,  and  were  for  the 
most  part  punctually  obeyed ; for  Lady  Dunore  had 
personally  solicited  the  attendance  of  the  ladies ; and 
had  dispatched  Mr.  Pottinger  to  the  gentlemen,  to 
request  they  would  be  present  on  an  occasion  which 
involved  some  of  the  dearest  interests  of  her  being. 

Lady  Georgiana,  in  a wrapper  of  India  muslin,  and 
a drapery  of  Brussels  lace  shading  her  face,  yawning 
and  peevish  at  being  disturbed,  when  the  dearest  in- 
terests of  her  dearest  friend  were  concerned,  reclined 
on  a sofa,  on  which  Lord  Frederick,  in  a robe  de 
chambre , and  embroidered  Turkey  slippers,  had  taken 
his  wonted  place  beside  her. 

Mr.  Heneage  and  Miss  Crawley  had  descended  in 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


563 


such  a hurry  that  the  one  appeared  without  his  stays, 
and  the  other  without  her  frizette,  Mr.  Pottinger 
was  habited  in  a yellow  silk  banyan,  presented  him 
by  an  ex-lady  lieutenant.  Old  Crawley,  ghastly  and 
agitated,  stood  in  a remote  window,  taking  snuff,  and 
pulling  down  his  wig.  His  son  had  left  the  castle  be- 
fore daylight,  under  the  excuse  of  attending  the  elec- 
tion ; and  Lady  Dunore,  pale  and  flushing  alternately, 
moved  about  in  restless  agitation,  till,  on  the  entrance 
of  her  son,  she  seized  his  arm,  and,  with  a counte- 
nance charged  with  irony,  and  with  malicious,  yet 
doubtful  triumph,  stood  observing  the  entrance  of 
General  Fitzwalter,  Lady  Clancare,  and  their  two 
clerical  friends.  A pause  ensued,  which  Lady  Du- 
nore at  last  interrupted,  and,  dropping  her  son’s  arm, 
she  came  forward,  and  addressing  Lady  Clancare  with 
a sort  of  half-ironical,  half-hysterical  laugh,  she  said  : 
“ If  there  be  any  truth  in  the  report  which  has  just 
reached  us  that  your  ladyship  has  this  morning  be- 
stowed your  fair  hand  on ■,  the  gentleman  whom 

you  now  accompany,  may  I hope  I am  among  the 
first  to  congratulate  you  on  the  event,  and  to  wish 
you  all  the  joy  it  is  likely  eventually  to  produce  ?” 

Lady  Clancare,  who  stood  the  image  of  her  own 
first  appearance  in  the  hall  of  Dunore,  the  same  shy, 
sly  expression  of  countenance,  and  bashful  embarrass- 
ment of  air,  replied  to  this  ironical  congratulation  by 
a low  respectful  courtesy,  as  one  who  took  this 
mock  civility  tout  de  bon , and  was  grateful  for  it. 

Provoked  at  this  unlooked-for  interpretation  Lady 
Dunore,  wholly  overcome  by  her  ungovernable  tem- 
per, went  on  with  increasing  acrimony : “ Had  I, 
madam,  known  the  extent  and  cast  of  your  ladyship’s 


564 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


theatrical  abilities,  I should  have  undoubtedly  induced 
you  to  undertake  the  part  of  Estifania,  and  we  should 
have  had  no  difficulty,  it  now  appears,  in  providing  a 
copper  captain.”  She  laughed  convulsively;  and 
then,  yielding  gradually  to  the  violent  impetuosity  of 
her  temper,  provoked  by  the  modest,  self-satisfied 
air  of  Lady  Clancare,  she  added,  in  a loud,  shrill 
voice,  “ Mr.  Crawley,  why  don’t  you  come  forward  V” 

Crawley,  with  an  air  of  timid  perplexity,  obeyed. 

“ I turn  over  those  two  adventurers,  those  con- 
spirators, to  you,  and  to  the  laws  they  have  violated ; 
and  I now  thus  publicly  acknowledge  my  imprudence 
in  receiving  them  under  my  roof,  and  beg  forgiveness 
of  the  friends  into  whose  society  I obtruded  them. 
Lady  Georgiana,  Miss  Crawley,  we  will,  if  you  please, 
now  retire.  Mr.  Crawley,  the  officers  of  justice  may 
do  their  duty.  Fitzadelm,  give  me  your  arm.” 

“No,  madam,”  said  Lord  Fitzadelm,  firmly,  and 
leading  her  back  forcibly  to  her  seat,  “ you  must  not 
go.  Neither  shall  I,  until  the  defamation  you  have 
indulged  in  is  either  substantiated  or  disproved ; until 
my  friend,  General  Fitzwalter,  is  afforded  (and  in  the 
presence  of  these,  before  whom  he  has  been  so  grossly 
insulted)  an  opportunity  of  clearing  himself  of  the  as- 
persions with  which  you  have  blasted  his  gallant 
charac  er.” 

“ Your  friend ! your  friend !”  repeated  Lady  Du- 
nore,  bursting  into  a fit  of  hysterical  tears.  “Are 
your  friends,  then,  to  be  always  my  enemies  ? Am 
I always  to  find  an  adversary  in  my  son ; or  is  it  only 
to  thwart,  oppose,  and  distract  me,  that  you  now  in- 
volve yourself  in  the  guilt  of  an  impostor  and  a mur- 
derer, by  publicly  acknowledging  him  as  your  friend 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


565 


A general  murmur  of  amazement  and  consternation 
arose.  Lord  Fitzadelm,  with  the  air  of  one  whose 
feelings  seemed  to  find  their  own  level  in  the  extra- 
ordinary and  unprecedented  part  he  was  now  called 
on  to  play,  turned  to  General  Fitzwalter,  and  said  : 
“ Now,  then,  is  your  moment — I hold  myself  answer- 
able  for  the  truth  of  all  you  shall  assert.” 

Fitzwalter  gently  released  himself  from  Lady  Clan- 
care’s  arm,  while  Lord  Frederick,  in  good-natured 
consideration  of  the  anxiety  and  emotion  painted  in 
her  countenance,  led  her  to  a chair,  and  took  his  place 
beside  her.  A silence  of  a moment  ensued,  and 
Fitzwalter,  advancing  with  his  wonted  disengaged 
and  elevated  air  towards  Lady  Dunore,  placed  him- 
self before  her,  and,  leaning  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
a chair,  addressed  her  with  his  usual  rapid  energy  of 
utterance : 

“ Making  a journey  on  horseback,  madam,  a short 
time  back,  on  business  of  emergency,  I was  over- 
taken in  the  Kil worth  mountains  by  a storm,  which 
induced  me  to  take  shelter  in  a miserable  hut.  I 
found  it  occupied  by  men,  whose  countenances  and 
appearance  were  of  that  wild  resolute  cast  which  in 
such  scenes  induces  suspicion.  The  poverty  of  the 
mistress  of  this  hut,  and  of  her  naked  children,  led 
me  to  an  act  of  perhaps  imprudent  liberality  at  such 
a moment.  I meant  to  have  given  her  a guinea.  I 
gave  her  by  mistake  a golden  coin.  Proceeding  on 
my  journey  I fell  in  with  a small  military  party;  they 
st opt  and  questioned  me.  While  thus  engaged  the 
men  I had  left,  accompanied  by  a hundred  others, 
well  mounted  and  rudely  armed,  overtook  the  sol- 
diers, who  were  employed  in  the  service  of  the  re- 


566 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


venue,  or,  in  the  language  of  the  country,  still- 
hunting.  The  conflict  was  desperate.  I endeavored 
to  interfere,  failed,  and  rode  on. 

“The  papers  have  since  announced  the  death  of 
one  of  the  military  party,  the  murderer  remained  for 
a time  unknown,  and,  after  the  expiration  of  some 
weeks,  it  appears  that  I stand  accused  of  this  mur- 
der, of  joining  the  party  who  opposed  the  military 
for  the  purposes  of  canvassing  popularity,  and  ob- 
taining false  witnesses  to  prove,  or  credulous  persons 
to  believe,  that  I am  the  son  of  the  elder  Baron  of 
Fitzadelm,  whose  death  was  supposed  to  have  oc- 
curred three-and-twenty  years  back.  This,  I believe, 
Mr.  Crawley,  is  the  spirit  of  your  indictment.” 

“ ’Pon  my  credit,  sir,  I can’t  take  upon  me  to  say 
just  in  a moment,  but  believes  it  is,”  returned  old 
Crawley. 

“ And  now,”  continued  Fitzwalter,  “ having  been 
brought  forward  for  the  purpose  of  being  exposed  to 
shame,  obloquy  and  ridicule— a refinement  upon  the 
severity  of  the  law,  a propitiatory  sacrifice  to  the 
distinguished  persons  on  whose  indignant  nobility  a 
murderer  and  a conspirator  has  been  unwillingly  ob- 
truded— may  I beg  to  know  from  you,  Mr.  Crawley 
(who  seem  the  acting  and  active  agent  in  this  prose- 
cution), where  am  I now  to  proceed  ?” 

Old  Crawley,  gradually  edging  himself  out  of  Ge- 
neral Fitzwalter’s  way,  as  he  approached  him,  sidled 
towards  one  of  the  officers  of  justice,  who  stood  at 
the  door,  and,  twitching  him  by  the  sleeve,  whisper- 
ed him  a few  words  in  his  ear ; the  man  respectfully 
approached  his  prisoner  and  bowed. 

“ I suppose,”  said  Fitzwalter,  “ Lady  Clancare,  as 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


567 


whose  husband  I have  the  honor  to  announce  my- 
self. may  be  allowed  to  accompany  me.  Is  it  not  so, 
Mr.  Crawley?” 

“ Give  you  my  honor,  sir,  I don’t  know ; if  it*s  in 
the  warrant,  and  Mr.  Lynch  has  no  objection,”  re- 
plied Crawley,  gradually  taking  shelter  behind  Lady 
Dunore’s  chair,  and  directing  many  significant  looks 
to  the  constable,  while  Miss  Crawley  whispered 
Lady  Dunore, 

“ Sure  such  a pair  were  never  seen.” 

A pause  of  a moment  ensued;  every  countenance 
was  marked  either  by  curiosity,  amazement,  or  anx- 
iety, when  Mr.  O’Sullivan  advanced  into  the  room, 
and  was  presented  to  the  marchioness  by  the  rector 
as  the  Catholic  Dean  of  Dunore,  and  Superior  of  the 
Friary  of  St.  John’s, — as  a gentleman  to  whom,  in 
the  course  of  his  professional  duties,  a wicked  and 
black  conspiracy  had  discovered  itself,  which  he  was 
desirous  of  revealing,  before  the  gentleman  (who 
stood  there  accused  of  rdurder)  should  be  dismissed 
from  her  ladyship’s  presence. 

Lady  Dunore’s  countenance  brightened  into 
triumph.  She  cast  a look  of  reproach  and  indig- 
nation at  her  son;  old  Crawley,  on  the  contrary, 
turned  deadly  pale,  and  sunk  on  a seat  beside  his 
sister,  whose  whispers  and  sneers  were  all  directed 
at  Lady  Clancare,  though  addressed  tp  Lady 
Dunore. 

“ Pray  sit  down,  Mr.  Dean,”  exclaimed  Lady  Du- 
nore, u I-  am  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
Georgy,  love,  move  a little,  and  make  room  for  the 
dean.  Pray  speak,  I am  all  attention.” 

Mr.  O'Sullivan,  declining  the  honor  of  the  seat  in- 


568 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


tended  him,  briefly  entered  on  the  business  which  had 
brought  him  to  the  country,  at  some  personal  incon- 
venience ; and  read  from  a paper,  which  w as  after- 
wards handed  about,  the  dying  declaration  of  a man 
of  the  name  of  Teague  Connor.  This  person,  two 
days  before,  had  been  wounded  in  a riot,  and  had 
sought  to  obtain  remission  of  his  crimes,  under  the 
influence  of  a deathbed  remorse,  by  confessing  his 
recent  conspiracy  against  the  life  of  an  innocent  man, 
a stranger,  of  whom  he  knew  nothing,  but  that  he 
had  seen  him  give  money  to  a poor  woman  in  a ca- 
bin. To  the  crime  he  had  confessed,  he  had  been  in- 
stigated by  the  arts  of  the  notorious  Jemmy  Bryan, 
who  purchased  his  acquiescence  by  the  sum  of  fifty 
pounds,  and  the  protection  of  a great  gentleman  in 
the  country. 

“The  name  of  this  gentleman,”  continued  Mr. 
O’Sullivan,  “ is  in  my  possession ; and  this  declaration 
is  signed  by  three  magistrates,  who  were  present 
when  it  was  made,  and  who  were  persons  of  the 
highest  respectability  and  consideration.  The  un- 
fortunate man  who  made  it  still  lives ; and  the  woman 
who  received  the  golden  coin  from  General  Fitzwal- 
ter  has  deposed  that  she  sold  it,  a few  days  back,  for 
forty  shillings,  to  the  said  Mr.  Jemmy  Bryan,  who 
has  escaped  the  vigilance  of  the  most  active  research ; 
and  except  Mr.  Crawley  can  give  us  some  assistance 
in  the  pursuit,  may  finally  elude  the  grasp  of  jus- 
tice.” 

The  triumph  which  had  flashed  from  Lady  Du- 
nore’s  eyes  now  gave  way  to  a look  of  deep  mortifi- 
cation and  disappointment ; while  the  appeal  of  Mr. 
O’Sullivan  turned  every  eye  on  old  Crawley,  who. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


569 


during  the  singular  denouement,  had  nearly  crept  to 
the  door:  there  he  was  stopped  by  Lord  Frederick, 
who,  springing  after  him,  and  catching  hirn  by  the 
arm,  led  him  back  into  the  room. 

“Stay,  my  Ching-foo,”  he  cried:  “it  is  now  very 
evident  we  cannot  get  on  without  you,  my  mirror  of 
magistrates.  We  cannot  yet  dispense  with  your  pre- 
sence,” 

“ Give  you  my  honor,  was  only  just  stepping  out 
for  a little  thieves’  vinegar,  in  respect  of  the  hate,” 
replied  old  Crawley,  as  he  took  his  seat,  muttering, 
as  he  passed  his  sister,  in  a tone  of  agony — “ and  Con 
to  desert  me  in  this  dilemia , and  think  only  of  him- 
self and  his  election !” 

“ I have  only  to  add,”  continued  Mr.  O’Sullivan, 
“ that  it  is  my  firm  belief  that  this  conspiracy  against 
the  character  and  life  of  a brave  and  high-spirited 
gentleman  has  been  contrived  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  preventing  his  making  claims  to  a title  and  pro- 
perty, of  which  he  has  been  long  deprived  by  the 
most  iniquitous  proceedings ; and  I am  also  ready  to 
declare  upon  oath,  in  a court  of  justice,  that  I believe 
the  person  who  now  has  the  title  and  name  of  Gene- 
ral Fitzwalter  to  be  Walter  de  Montenay  Fitzadelm, 
son  and  heir  to  the  late  Baron  Walter  Fitzwalter,  and 
that  he  is  the  true  Marquis  of  Dunore.” 

“ And  I declare,”  exclaimed  old  Crawley,  worked 
up  by  the  exigency  of  the  moment,  while  universal 
emotion  and  amazement  were  pictured  in  every  coun- 
tenance, “ I declare  that  the  gentleman,  if  it’s  gentle- 
man you  call  him,  Mr.  O’Sullivan,  is  Micky  Laffan,  a 
bit  of  a by-blow  of  my  Lord  Fitzadelm,  by  one  Judy 
Laffan ; and  if  I don’t  prove  it,  and  many  respectable 


570 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


witnesses  along  with  me,  I’ll  just  give  my  head  for  & 
Cronobane  halfpenny.” 

“ How  can  that  be  ?”  exclaimed  a voice  from  the 
door,  “ and  I,  Micky  Laffan,  here  to  the  fore.” 

The  gaunt  figure  of  Padreen  Gar  strided  forward, 
and  he  continued : 

“ And  you  thought,  Mr.  Crawley,  I’d  never  come 
back  from  transportation ; but  I tould  you  I would, 
sir,  when  you  laste  expected  me ; and  am  here,  you 
see,  to  make  good  my  word.”  As  he  spoke  he  wiped 
off  the  yellow  stain  that  covered  his  face;  and  re- 
moving the  black  hairs  which  concealed  a handsome 
auburn  head,  he  asked,  with  his  wonted  air  of  reso- 
lute intrepidity,  “ do  you  know  me  now,  Mr.  Craw- 
ley, sir  ? Isn’t  that  the  coolin’  of  the  family  all  the 
world  over  ?”  and  he  run  his  coarse  fingers  through 
locks  curled  and  burnished  as  Lord  Adelm’s  own : 
“ and  hopes  I have  too  much  of  a gentleman  in  me, 
Mr.  Crawley,  and  too  much  of  the  blood  of  my  father 
in  my  veins,  to  do  the  unhandsome  thing,  or  save 
myself  from  trouble,  by  bringing  ruination  on  the 
head  of  an  innocent  man  and  a fine  gentleman ; and 
you  may  sind  me  back  to  Botany  Bay  now,  if  you 
plaze,  Mr.  Crawley,  for  another  ruction  at  Ballydab, 
as  yez  did  before ; but  defies  the  world  to  say  I ever 
injured  man  or  baste,  barring  a tithe  proctor,  or  a bit 
of  an  exciseman,  or  cropping  a taste  off  Jemmy  Bry- 
an’s odd  ear,  just  for  fun,  and  carries  my  mark  with 
him  to  this  day  ; and  if  you  don’t  believe  what  I say, 
there’s  the  certificate  of  my  birth,  and  there’s  the 
gentleman,  God  bless  him,  that  signed  it,  and  was 
minister  at  Fitzadelm  church  the  day  I was  born.” 

Padreen  Gar  presented  a piece  of  dirty  paper  to 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


571 


tlie  rector,  who  acknowledged  the  signature,  and  re- 
collected the  baptism  of  an  illegitimate  son  of  Lord 
Walter  Fitzadelm,  at  the  period  of  the  date,  whom, 
like  many  others  of  the  offspring  of  that  Lord’s  illicit 
loves,  he  had  abandoned  to  the  want  and  misery 
which  eventually  led  to  a life  of  lawlessness  and  des- 
peration. 

Old  Crawley  sunk  back  in  his  chair,  and  either  was 
unable  or  unwilling  to  make  any  further  effort.  Lady 
Dunore  was  motionless  and  silent  from  fear,  doubt, 
and  consternation;  her  eyes,  almost  starting  from 
their  inflamed  sockets,  wandered  alternately  from  the 
face  of  her  son  to  Fitzwalter  and  Padreen  Gar ; and, 
differing  as  they  all  did  in  personal  appearance,  she 
beheld,  or  fancied  she  could  trace  a resemblance,  such 
as  is  often  seen  in  members  of  the  same  family,  how- 
ever vague  or  indefinite. 

Fitzwalter  turned  his  eyes  on  Lord  Adelm,  as  if, 
before  he  himself  occupied  attention,  he  wished  to 
give  him  an  opportunity  of  playing  a part,  distin- 
guished in  proportion  to  its  singularity  and  disinter- 
estedness. Lord  Adelm,  though  languid,  and  occa- 
sionally abstracted,  as  one  self-involved  and  distress- 
ingly preoccupied,  understood  the  appeal  made  to  all 
his  better  feelings,  and  came  forward  to  reply  to  it. 

“ It  may,”  he  said,  addressing  his  mother,  “ it  may 
tend  to  put  a speedy  termination  to  a scene,  naturally 
calculated  to  distress  and  agitate  you,  madam,  if 
without  further  discussions,  at  a moment  when  they 
are  scarcely  available,  I,  who  have  been  so  long  sup- 
posed the  presumptive  heir  of  the  Dunore  estates  and 
titles,  come  forward  to  assert  my  solemn  belief  in  the 
actual  existence  of  my  uncle’s  only  son,  De  Montenay 


572 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Fitzadelm : further,  it  is  my  belief,  that  the  cele- 
brated and  distinguished  man,  who  now  stands  before 
me,  is  that  person ; and  I am  proud  to  confess  that  I 
have  been  possessed  of  the  secret  of  his  existence, 
and  of  the  efforts  he  has  been  making  to  establish  his 
just  claims,  since  he  first  arrived  in  this  country — 
claims  which  it  would  be  as  impolitic,  as  vain,  to  re- 
sist. The  perilous  confidence  his  noble  and  generous 
nature  thus  placed  in  me  has  been  the  purchase  of  my 
everlasting  esteem  and  gratitude.  I will  not  say  I 
am  happy,  that  is  not  in  human  nature ; but  I am 
proud  to  welcome  the  long  injured  Marquis  of  Du- 
17  ore  to  the  possessions  of  his  ancestors.” 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Fitzwalter,  and  the  em- 
brace of  the  distinguished  cousins  wras  a signal  of  the 
prompt  feelings  of  O’Leary  and  Padreen  Gar.  Their 
cry  of  long  live  Walter  de  Montenay  Fitzadelm,  Mar- 
quis of  Dunore,  and  Gal-Keadh-Aboe,  was  echoed  by 
persons  who  had  forced  their  way  into  the  hall,  and 
re-echoed  by  the  multitude  who  occupied  the  court 
without. 

Lady  Dunore,  now  agitated  “ up  to  her  bent,” 
wrung  her  hands  in  convulsive  emotion,  exclaiming, 
that  Lord  Adelm  sought  only  to  oppose  and  distract 
her,  calling  on  Mr.  Crawley  to  come  forward,  and  en- 
treating her  friends  to  stand  by  her  to  secure  the 
conspirators,  and  to  discredit  a tale,  in  which  there 
was  not,  there  could  not  be,  a shadow  of  truth. 

Every  eye  was  turned  on  the  hero  of  the  scene, 
who  waited  evidently  for  the  first  burst  of  Lady  Du- 
nore’s  passion  to  exhaust  itself  before  he  addressed 
her.  He  then  said — “ That  a story  so  extraordinary, 
so  strongly  opposed  to  your  ladyship’s  maternal  in- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


573 


terests  and  ambition,  should  startle  your  belief,  is  na- 
tural and  excusable ; of  its  truth,  however,  there  is 
one  witness  in  this  room,  whose  testimony  you  can- 
not doubt ; I mean  Mr.  Crawley.” 

Old  Crawley,  faint,  ghastly,  the  victim  of  his  con- 
stitutional timidity,  and  of  facts  which  were  bearing 
all  before  them,  shrunk  backhand  seemed  almost  to 
diminish  to  the  eye,  as  every  feature,  every  limb, 
yielded  to  gradual  contraction.  General  Fitzwalter, 
however,  advanced,  drew  him  forward,  and  led  him 
a few  minutes  on  one  side.  Whatever  had  been  the 
subject  of  their  conference,  when  old  Crawley  turned 
round  (though  still  agitated  and  trembling),  the  color 
had  returned  to  his  livid  cheek  ; and  when  he  wTas  led 
forward  to  his  patroness,  who  was  weeping  on  his 
sister’s  shoulder  (Lady  Georgiana  being  too  much 
amused  to  lend  her  friend  any  assistance),  he  en- 
deavored to  address  her. 

“ Lady  Emily  Fitzadelm,”  he  began ; but  the  wTild 
start  of  the  person  he  thus  addressed,  the  flash  of  in- 
dignation which  sparkled  in  her  haughty  eyes,  again 
annihilated  his  returning  courage;  and  uttering  an 
inarticulate — “ The  Lord  save  us  !’’  he  hastily  re- 
treated. 

“Mr.  Crawley,  madam,”  said  the  Marquis  of  Du- 
nore,  “ would  have  sought  your  ladyship's  forgive- 
ness, for  having  so  long  concealed  an  event  in  which 
you  are  so  deeply  interested.  He  would  plead  in  ex- 
cuse that  zeal  for  you  and  your  children,  which 
originated  his  acquiescence  in  a crime  which  it  is 
now  h:s  intention  to  expiate  by  a full  and  complete 
discovery.  His  testimony,  however,  may  be  dis- 
pensed with;  the  evidences  in  my  favor  are  suffi- 


574 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


ciently  numerous  and  strong  to  leave  me  independent 
of  his  assistance.  His  liberty,  perhaps  his  life,  was 
in  my  power — they  are  so  no  more.  I have  pledged 
my  honor  for  their  safety,  on  certain  conditions.  His 
reputation,  his  ill-acquired  property,  I cannot  save. 
I have  now  little  to  add.  It  will  depend  upon  the 
prudence  and  discretion  of  your  ladyship’s  counsel- 
lors, whether  in  acting  as  the  representative  of  your 
suffering  son,  Robert  Fitzadelm,  commonly  called 
Marquis  of  Dunore,  you  shall  bring  our  mutual 
claims  before  a court,  when  it  is  for  the  honor  of 
our  family  that  they  should  be  referred  to  private  de- 
cision. 

“ For  what  purpose,  and  at  whose  instigation,  I 
was  in  my  boyhood  torn  from  my  country  and  my 
birthright,  and  was  sold  to  slavery,  Mr.  Crawley  can 
best  tell  you ; for  the  rest,  my  story  may  be  briefly 
related. 

u The  generous  person  into  whose  hands  I .fell, 
rescued  me  from  the  horrors  of  a condition  which 
still  exists  among  the  professors  of  Christianity,  to 
the  shame  of  humanity.  The  precocity  of  intellect, 
which  had  been  nourished  by  the  lessons  of  my  good 
and  learned  fosterer  and  preceptor,  O’Leary,  told 
powerfully  in  my  favor  with  him  whose  property  I 
became.  I was  soon  made  the  companion  and  in- 
structor of  his  only  son,  saved  the  boy’s  life  in  a sur- 
prise attempted  by  some  native  Indians,  who  sur- 
rounded us  in  a distant  sporting  journey ; received 
my  manumission  as  a recompense ; grew  uncon- 
sciously on  the  father’s  affections ; became  the  child 
of  his  adoption,  on  the  premature  death  of  his  only 
son,  and  succeeded  to  his  property  on  his  demise. 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


575 


“ The  cause  of  liberty  was  my  natural  vocation ; 
and  I hastened  to  the  South  American  continent,  to 
join  the  standard,  then  slowly  beginning  to  unfurl  in 
the  land  of  oppression.  My  own  story  lay  rankling 
in  secret  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart;  and  I had 
almost  learnt  to  abhor  its  name  and  title,  which  had 
been  the  cause  of  my  being  reduced  below  the  state 
of  man.  When  I arrived  in  England,  however,  with 
Don  hfarino5  in  my  inquiries  after  my  own  family,  I 
found  there'only  existed  an  empty  title,  without  pro- 
perty, rank,  or  consideration;  and  a representative 
whom  my  reappearance  would  blast  with  eternal  in- 
famy. There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  a dis- 
covery, but  the  destruction  of  those  nearest  to  me  by 
blood.  I returned  to  South  America  without  re- 
claiming a name  I almost  blushed  to  own,  that  I 
might  make  one  I should  glory  in  wearing. 

“ In  justice  to  myself,  I must  observe,  that  the  pro- 
tector of  my  infancy,  the  instructor  of  my  youth, 
was  never  forgotten — my  dear  foster-father  O'Leary.” 
He  paused,  and  a smile  of  mingled  emotion  and 
beneficence  threw  its  radiance  over  his  splendid  coun- 
tenance. O’Leary  hustled  forward,  and  pressing  the 
tears  from  his  swdmming  eyelids,  he  stood  with  a 
look  of  proud  triumph  beside  him,  swinging  his  hat, 
and  humming  away  his  emotion. 

“ Of  the  persons  of  respectability  in  my  father’s 
service,  I could  only  remember  the  son  of  our  land 
steward,  Darby  Crawley,  an  attorney  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Court  Fitzadelm.  To  this  person  I wrote, 
requesting  him  to  forward  an  enclosed  letter  to  Ter- 
ence O’Leary,  whose  wife  had  been  in  the  service 
of  the  Baroness  Fitzadelm,  containing  five  hundred 


576 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


pounds ; but  in  case  of  his  death  to  return  it  to  my 
banker  in  London.  In  my  letter  to  O’Leary,  I en- 
trusted the  secret  of  my  existence,  and  my  intention 
of  coming  forward  to  claim  my  right  and  title,  on 
the  death  of  my  uncle.” 

“ The  murthering  pirate !”  interrupted  O’Leary, 
shaking  his  head  at  old  Crawley,  who  sat  behind 
the  chair  of  his  trembling  and  now  agitated  sister. 
“ And  never  gave  a scrubal  of  it,  as  I tould  your  lord- 
ship  before,  but  had  me  flogged  in  the  rebellion  for  a 
Latin  note  he  found  in  my  pocket — the  ignoramus  !” 

“ The  event  of  my  captivity  in  the  Caraccas,”  con- 
tinued Lord  Punore,  “ is  already  before  the  public. 
One  incident  arose  from  this  event,  which  it  is  curious 
to  mention,  as  bearing  forcibly  on  the  circumstances 
of  the  moment.  The  keeper  of  my  dungeon  w-as  a 
Spaniard,  who  spoke  a little  English.  He  had  occa- 
sionally addressed  me  in  that  language,  and  eyed  me 
with  curiosity  which  indicated  an  interest  beyond 
that  of  our  present  relation — it  was  the  interest  of  re- 
cognition; and  inquiries,  mutually  made  and  answer- 
ed, discovered  in  the  person  of  the  keeper  of  my 
dungeon  a sailor,  one  of  the  crew"  who  had  assisted  in 
kidnapping  me  in  my  boyhood  from  the  Irish  coast. 

“ This  man  had  suffered  much  in  the  interval  which 
had  elapsed ; he  had  been  taken  by  Barbary  pirates — 
sold  to  slavery,  and,  in  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life,  had 
entered  into  the  service  of  Spain,  been  wounded,  dis- 
abled, and  made  one  of  the  keepers  of  a royal  prison 
in  Spanish  America.  He  had  considered  his  suffer- 
ings as  retributions  for  the  crimes  he  had  assisted  in 
committing  on  the  Irish  shores ; and,  in  the  hope  that 
lie  was  now  about  to  be  reconciled  with  heaven,  he 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


577 


effected  my  escape  from  prison,  accompanied  me  in 
my  flight,  and  is  at  present  my  mate,  and  on  board 
my  own  vessel,  which  lies.,  in  harbor  near  Cork.  In 
confirmation  of  these  facts,  he  can  produce  a letter, 
dropped  on  the  deck  by  one  of  the  disguised  persons 
who  had  brought  me  out  to  the  vessel,  which  he  had 
preserved  in  the  hope  of  one  day  expiating  his  crime 
by  being  of  use  to  me.  The  signature  of  this  letter  I 
have  shown  to  Lord  Fitzadelm.  Its  address  is  to  Mr. 
Crawley,  from  Court  Fitzadelm,  twenty-three  years 
back ; and  the  postmark  is  a town  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Witnesses,  no  less  efficient  than  this  let- 
ter, are — a groom  of  my  father's  who  carried  me  in 
the  chaise,  which  now  awaits  at  the  door  of  this  cas- 
tle, and  who  has  been  reduced  to  beggary,  under  the 
Irish  epithet  of  the  Baccah ; Terence  Oge  O’Leary, 
my  foster-father;  the  Rev.  Denis  O'Sullivan,  my  mo- 
ther’s kinsman  and  confessor,  to  whom  she  bequeathed 
the  certificate  of  my  birth,  and  that  of  her  own  mar- 
riage (urged  to  this  cautionary  proceeding  by  the  in- 
trigues of  which  she  died  the  broken-hearted  victim). 
The  miniatures  of  both  my  parents  in  their  youth  are 
in  his  possession,  to  both  of  which  I bear  a strong  re- 
semblance ; — and  the  Reverend  Rector  of  Dunore  re- 
members me  in  my  childhood,  when  he  was  himself 
a young  man,  just  entered  into  orders,  and  made 
curate  of  the  parish  of  Court  Fitzadelm.  I have  no- 
thing more  to  add,  but  that  my  story,  strange  and 
improbable  as  it  may  appear,  belongs  to  the  history 
of  a long  disorganized  country,  where,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  political  misrule,  the  moral  relations  of  so- 
ciety too  often  sit  loosely,  and  where  the  demoraliza- 
tion of  the  people  is  a necessary  consequence  of  the 


578 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


code  of  those  who  rule  by  national  debasement  and 
disunion.-’ 

After  a brief  silence,  preserved  by  the  amazement 
of  some,  and  the  still  eager  curiosity  of  others,  he 
added,  in  a voice  full  of  conciliation  and  respect,  and 
more  especially  addressing  himself  to  the  weeping 
and  exhausted  Lady  Dunore,  “ This  is  not  a moment 
to  press  upon  your  ladyship’s  credence  the  facts  of  a 
story  it  can  neither  be  your  interest  nor  inclination 
to  admit.  But  I would  at  least  induce  you  to  believe 
that  the  mother  of  Lord  Adelm  Fitzadelm  must  al- 
ways be  to  me  an  object  of  respect,  of  interest,  and 
consideration ; and  that,  whether  you  persist  in  refus- 
ing, or  yield  to  the  claims  I have  now  briefly  stated, 
you  will,  at  least,  I trust,  remain  mistress  of  this  cas- 
tle, so  long  as  it  may  be  your  convenience  or  pleasure 
to  continue  in  Ireland, 

“And  now,  Mr.  Crawley,”  he  added  with  his 
radiant  smile,  “ if  you  insist  on  the  execution  of  your 
warrant,  I must  obey,  and  accompany  your  officers 
of  justice  to  Dublin.  I confess,  however,  I had 
planned  a journey  of  a very  different  description.” 
He  colored  deeply,  and  threw"  his  eyes  on  Lady  Clan- 
care,  who,  downcast  and  blushing,  was  deserted  in 
this  moment  of  prosperous  triumph  by  that  gaiety 
and  elasticity  .of  spirit,  which  in  less  fortunate  hours 
had  borne  her  above  the  adverse  circumstances  of  her 
forlorn  destiny.  The  bashfulness  of  a bride,  fresh 
from  the  altar,  and  the  powerful  emotions  incidental 
to  her  peculiar  position,  as  she  now  stood,  the  mis- 
tress of  the  superb  mansion,  where  she  had  first  ap- 
peared a prisoner,  where  she  had  lately  stood  ac- 
cused of  conspiracy  and  imposture,  left  her  confused, 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


579 


silent,  and  shrinking  from  the  glances  which  the 
slight  allusion  of  the  Marquis  of  Dunore  to  their  re- 
spective situations  had  drawn  to  her  person.  A few 
words  having  passed  between  the  agitated  Crawley 
and  Lord  Fitzadelm,  the  latter,  addressing  his  cousin, 
observed  aloud,  that  Mr.  Crawley  had  referred  every- 
thing to  him  for  the  present. 

“ Then,  in  that  case,”  observed  Lord  Dunore,  step- 
ping back,  and  drawing  the  arm  of  the  new  and 
bridal  marchioness  through  his,  “ we  shall  pursue  our 
route,  according  to  our  original  intention.” 

Lady  Clancare,  now  letting  go  his  arm,  advanced 
timidly  to  Lady  Dunore,  and  took  her  hand  with  that 
fondling  and  playful  manner  which  had  once  such 
charms  for  her  capricious  friend. 

“ No,”  said  Lady  Dunore,  snatching  it  hastily  from 
her,  and  in  a tone  of  angry  indignation;  whatever 
may  happen,  I shall  always  consider  your  conduct  as 
false  and  deceptive.” 

“ How !”  said  Lady  Clancare,  all  her  wonted  spirit 
rallying  to  her  eyes  and  countenance.  “ False!  Was 
it  false  to  confide  to  you  the  sole  important  secret  of 
my  life?  Was  it  deceptive  to  confess  to  you  the 
motives  which  led  me  to  your  castle,  to  seek  and  to 
accept  your  hospitality  ? If  I have  deceived  you, 
madam,  it  was  by  the  frank  relation  of  facts,  calcu- 
lated indeed  by  their  improbability  to  win  on  your 
attention,  but  yet  confided  to  you  at  some  risk ; be- 
cause, though  I may  have  availed  myself  of  some 
mysterious  truths,  I disdained  falsehood  even  for  the 
purpose  of  effecting  my  dearest  interests — and  now,” 
she  added,  with  a sudden  burst  of  gaiety  flashing 
over  her  whole  countenance,  and  animating  every 


680 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


gesture,  “ I would  fain,  like  one  of  my  own  heroines, 
wind  up  the  denouement  of  my  story  with  some 
touch  of  humor  or  pathos — some  appeal  to  the  feel- 
ings I address,  which  should  enable  me  to  retire  with 
applause ; but  hitherto  adversity  has  been  my  muse, 
and  now,”  placing  her  hand  in  Lord  Dunore’s,  “ she 
deserts  me. 

“What  remains,  therefore,  to  be  said  of  myself, 
must  be  deferred  to  calmer  moments,  when  (as  en- 
nuyee,  as  other  great  personages  with  the  ‘ toujours 
Perdrix1)  I shall  seek  to  diversify  the  calm  of  my  dull 
prosperity  by  a recurrence  to  the  vicissitudes  of  my 
early  life ; then  seated  by  my  Irish  turf  fire,  with  my 
own  amusement  for  my  object,  and  my  husband  for 
my  critical  reviewer,  I shall  take  the  liberty  of  put- 
ting myself  in  my  own  book,  and  shall  record  the 
events  of  this  last  month  of  my  life  under  the  title  of — 
FLORENCE  MACARTHY.” 


CHAPTER  XXn. 


And  thus  the  whirligig  of  time 
Brings  in  its  revenges. 

Shakspeare. 


CONCLUSION. 

The  eccentric  and  visionary,  but  high-minded  Lord 
Adelm  Fitzadelm,  had  just  remained  in  Ireland  long 
enough  to  learn  that  his  law  agent,  Conway  Crawley, 
had  been  elected  member  in  his  stead  for  Glanna- 
crime ; and  the  papers  soon  after  announced  his  de- 
parture for  the  North  Pole. 

Meantime,  his  mother,  backed  by  powerful  friends, 
and  urged  by  interested  counsellors,  refused,  on  her 
return  to  England,  to  acknowledge  the  claims  made 
by  the  gallant  guerilla  chief  to  the  title  and  property 
in  possession  of  her  insane  son.  A suit  was  com- 
menced, which  ended  in  her  defeat,  and  only  served 
to  expose  the  infamy  of  her  late  husband  to  “ the 
garish  eye  of  day.”  The  trial,  however,  had  occu- 
pied, amused,  and  agitated  her ; and  the  overthrow  of 
her  hopes  furnished  her  new  sources  of  real  affliction 
and  complaint,  in  place  of  the  ideal  sorrows  she  had 
loved  to  create  and  to  deplore. 

As  Miss  Crawley  had  prudently  separated  herself 
from  her  brother  Darby,  with  the  desertion  of  his 
success  and  fortunes,  and  had  accompanied  Lady  Du- 


582 


FLORENCE  MACART1IY. 


nore  to  England,  she  availed  herself  of  the  depres- 
sion ot  mind  to  which  that  lady,  for  a time,  resigned 
her  variable  feelings ; and,  to  her  infinite  triumph,  she 
had  the  happiness  of  seeing  rouge  Almacks,  and 
“ Georgy,  love,”  sacrificed  to  round-eared  caps,  reli- 
gious conversaziones,  and  the  society  of  the  elect  and 
hungry  in  the  Lord,  who  eat  their  way  to  their 
patronesses’  conversion  with  true  gastronomic,  as 
well  as  polemic  zeal ; while  Miss  Crawley,  the  direct- 
ress of  her  conscience  and  her  house,  gradually  as- 
sumed a power  over  both,  to  which  the  unregulated 
imagination  of  Lady  Dunore,  easily  worked  on  by 
terror  and  mysticism,  made  no  resistance. 

The  leases  and  mortgages,  rendered  unavailable  by 
the  unexpected  reappearance  of  the  real  Marquis  of 
Dunore,  with  the  loss  of  his  agency,  nearly  reduced 
old  Crawley  to  a state  of  ruin,  which  an  investigation 
of  the  commissioners  of  inquiry  into  his  official  emo- 
luments finally  completed.  His  military  son  had 
been  ordered  abroad.  His  eldest  son,  under  an  accu- 
mulation of  gambling  debts,  occupied  an  apartment 
in  a prison  over  which  he  had  once  presided ; and  old 
Crawley,  in  his  extreme  distress,  was  reduced  to  ap- 
plying for  relief  to  his  favorite  son,  Conway,  who 
had,  however,  on  the  first  turn  of  his  father’s  fortunes, 
shaken  him  off,  on  the  plea  of  his  immoral  conduct 
and  lost  character. 

Conway  Townsend  Crawley,  Esq.,  member  for 
Glannacrime,  had  found  an  early  opportunity  of  at- 
tracting the  eyes  of  persons  in  power,  by  serving  in 
a cause  in  which  they  were  interested,  and  had  pur- 
chased a situation  of  trust  and  emolument  at  the  ex- 
pense of  every  manly  and  every  gentlemanlike  feel- 


FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


583 


mg.  Pushing  his  way  into  high  society  by  the  same 
intrepid  effrontery  with  which  he  had  pushed  his  way 
through  life  to  fortune,  he  happened  one  day  to  be 
seated  at  the  head  of  his  sumptuous  table,  entertain- 
ing a select  party  of  official  grandees,  when  Mr. 
Darby  Crawley  from  Ireland  was  announced;  and 
when,  to  his  horror  and  consternation,  his  vulgar, 
blundering,  but  unfortunate  father,  entered  the  room, 
and,  throwing  his  arms  around  him,  exclaimed : 

“ Con,  honey,  sure  you  won’t  turn  your  back  on 
your  poor  ould  father,  like,  like  the  rest  of  the  world  ? 
- — he  that  made  a counsellor  and  a member  of  parlia- 
ment of  you,  and  that  warned  you  against  poethry, 
and  pathritism,  and  gianius;  and  owes  to  him  what 
you  are  at  this  minute,  if  you  were  twenty  times  as 
great.” 

The  ridicule  of  this  scene,  prolonged  by  the  good- 
nature of  his  guests  and  friends,  was  ineffagable ; and 
from  that  moment  Conway  Crawley  resolved  on  get- 
ting rid  of  a relative  who  blended  a disgraceful  vul- 
garity and  lost  character  with  an  effrontery  which, 
like  his  own,  was  unconquerable. 

In  a few  weeks,  therefore,  Mr.  Crawley,  through 
the  interest  of  his  son,  being  still  a loyal,  though  al- 
most a lost  man,  was  appointed  consul  to  his  Britan- 
nic Majesty  at  a Turkish  port.  Meantime,  consigned 
by  that  son  to  the  back  stairs  and  housekeeper’s  room 
of  his  house  in  London,  he  felt  the  indignity  with  pa- 
rental pride ; but  his  natural  cheeriness  of  tempera- 
ment prevailed  over  his  misfortune,  and  while  he  sat 
with  the  priestess  of  conserves  enjoying  a “ sup  of 
hot,”  his  head  full  of  turbanned  Turks  and  the  ele- 
phant in  Blue  Beard,  on  which  he  expected  shortly  to 


584 


FLORENCE  MACARTIIY. 


ride,  with  some  acrimonious  reference  to  the  political 
power  and  unnatural  conduct  of  his  son,  he  occasion- 
ally was  heard  to  sing  forth— 

“ ’Tis  a very  fine  thing  to  he  father-in-law 
To  a very  magnificent  three-tail’d  bashaw.” 

His  son,  meantime,  becoming  a servant  of  all  work 
in  his  political  vocation  and  remunerated  accordingly, 
in  his  various  capacities,  literary,  official,  and  diploma- 
tic,— used,  not  respected,  tolerated,  not  esteemed, — 

“ With  pay,  and  scorn  content, 

Bows  and  votes  on  in  court  and  parliament.’* 

On  the  successful  termination  of  the  great  Fitz- 
adelm  cause,  which  had  for  some  months  occupied 
the  public  attention,  the  Marquis  and  Marchioness  of 
Dunore  took  possession  of  their  ancient  castle  and 
vast  possessions  in  Ireland,  and  fixed  there  their  chief 
residence.  Convinced  by  a close  and  attentive  obser- 
vation that  the  land  of  their  birth  was  hourly  sinking 
in  the  scale  of  nations,  under  the  oppression  of  petty, 
delegated  authority,  and  by  the  neglect  and  absence 
of  its  natural  protectors,  they  acted,  with  their  accus- 
tomed energy  and  perseverance,  upon  the  dictates  of 
experience;  and  they  illustrated,  by  their  example, 
the  truth  of  a maxim,  now  more*  generally  felt  and 
admitted,  that 

IRELAND  CAN  BEST  BE  SERVED  IN  IRELAND. 


NOTES  TO  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


585 


NOTES. 

Note  (1)  Page  7. — This  may  seem  harsh  language  applied  to 
the  “ gallant  Raleigh,”  who  had  rendered  himself  so  illustrious 
in  many  instances,  but  it  is  fully  justified  by  his  conduct  during 
his  residence  in  Ireland. 

(2)  Page  39. — Of  the  inextinguishable  fire  heretofore  kept  by 
the  nuns  of  St.  Bridget  at  Kildare,  thus  speaks  Giraldus  Cam- 
brensis.  At  Kildare,  famous  for  St.  Bridget,  are  many  miracles 
worthy  to  be  remembered,  among  which  is  St.  Bridget’s  fire, 
which  they  call  inextinguishable,  not  that  it  cannot  be  extin- 
guished, but  because  the  nuns  and  holy  women,  by  a continual 
supply  of  materials,  have  preserved  it  alive  for  so  many  years 
since  the  time  of  that  virgin ; and  though  so  great  a quantity  of 
wood  has  been  consumed  in  it,  yet  no  ashes  remain.  From 
hence  that  nunnery  is  commonly  called  the  fire-house. 

(3)  Page  41. — Abbey  of  the  Holy  Cross,  by  the  Riyer  Suire. 
This  abbey  was  founded  in  honor  of  the  Holy  Cross,  for  Cister- 
cians, by  Donald  O’Brien,  King  of  Limerick,  about  the  year  1169, 
or  as  others,  in  1181.  The  possessions  were  confirmed  by  John, 
Lord  of  Ireland  and  Earl  of  Moreton,  afterwards  King  of  Eng- 
land. This  abbey  was  afterwards,  in  a general  chapter,  sub- 
jected by  the  Abbot  of  Clarevaux  to  the  Abbey  of  Furness,  in 
England. 

(4)  Page  43. — Shebeen — literally  a house  of  concealment. 
The  term  is  applied  from  the  circumstance  of  the  spirits  which 
are  sold  in  these  private  pot-houses  being  unlicensed,  and  con- 
sequently concealed. 

(5)  Page  56. — To  the  proper  names  of  the  ancient  Irish,  sur- 
names were  added,  either  from  some  action,  some  quality  of  the 
mind,  color  or  mark  of  the  body,  or  from  chance,  or  ironically. 
So  Neal,  King  of  Ireland,  was  called  Vigialac,  because  he  had 
taken  nine  hostages  from  the  lesser  kings,  and  had  held  them  for 
some  time  in  fetters.  King  Brian  was  called  Boruma,  because  he 


586  NOTES  TO  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 

had  recovered  from  the  people  of  Leinster  a certain  annual  tri- 
bute so  called.  Csenfela  was  called  the  wise. 

(*5)  Page  56. — This  Irish  Marmite  formerly,  and  even  within 
these  twenty  years,  was  open  to  any  hand  its  plentiful  contents 
might  tempt.  Now,  however,  the  potato  has  risen  in  value  with 
the  increase  of  wretchedness,  and  of  that  one  meal  a day  is 
often  with  difficulty  procured.  In  the  summer  of  1817,  the 
author  being  in  the  country,  within  twelve  miles  of  Dublin,  on  a 
visit  at  the  seat  of  a person  of  rank,  frequently  observed  that 
when  the  twelve  o’clock  bell  rung  to  send  the  laborers  home  to 
dinner,  they  lay  down  in  the  dry  ditches.  On  inquiring  into  the 
cause  of  a circumstance  so  unusual,  she  was  informed,  both  by 
the  peasants  and  their  overseers,  that  being  unable  to  procure 
more  than  one  meal  of  potatoes  (taken  only  with  salt  and  water), 
they  preferred  having  that  meal  at  night.  Even  this  wretched 
supper  is  extremely  scanty. 

(6)  Page  94. — The  ancient  Irish  used  wicker  boats  covered 
with  ox  hide,  called  corraghs,  upon  the  open  sea.  Upon  lakes 
and  rivers  they  used  another  kind  of  boat,  called  cotta , made  of 
a hollo.w  tree.  Both  these  boats  are  still  in  general  use  in 
Ireland,  under  the  name  of  corraghs  and  cots,  but  are  chiefly  to 
be  found  on  the  rivers  in  remote  counties,  and  on  the  south  and 
west  sea  coast. 

(7)  Page  111. — “I  admit  neither  presbyter,  papist,  independ- 
ent, nor,  as  our  proclamation  says,  any  other  sort  of  fanatic,  to 
plant  here,  but  all  good  Protestants.” — Earl  of  Orrery's  Letter  to 
tlie  Duke  of  Ormonde , 1662. 

(8)  Page  132. — The  driver  is  generally  a peasant’s  son,  taken 
from  the  spade,  and  hired  at  a salary  of  £5  or  £6  a year.  He 
is  ever  the  ready  instrument  of  oppression ; and,  consequently, 
the  object  of  popular  vengeance,  and  devoted  to  death,  with  the 
tithe  proctor,  the  police  constable,  &c.,  &c. 

(9)  Page  180.— The  Butlers  and  Fitzgeralds  had  been  power- 
ful rivals  and  enemies  from  the  time  of  their  arrival  in  Ireland 
with  Henry  II.  The  anecdote  is  well  known  of  the  Earl  of 
Desmond  being  taken  prisoner  by  the  Earl  of  Ormonde ; and 
borne  off  wounded  on  the  shoulders  of  the  Ormonde  followers, 
returned  in  answer  to  the  taunting  question  of  “ Where  now  is 


NOTES  TO  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


587 


the  great  Lord  Desmond  1”  “Still  on  the  necks  of  the  But- 
lers.’ 

(10)  Page  180. — The  “ Fringes”  was  a procession  of  the  trades 
and  corporations,  performed  in  Ireland  on  Corpus  Christi  day, 
even  within  the  author’s  recollection.  King  Solomon,  Queen 
Sheba,  with  Vulcan,  Venus,  and  Cupid,  were  leading  personages 
upon  this  occasion.  The  ceremony  was  the  remains  of  an  old 
Roman  Catholic  superstition.  Something  in  the  same  way  is 
still  celebrated  in  Shrewsbury,  or  at  least  was  a very  few  years 
back. 

(11)  Page  *211. — The  private  theatricals,  held  annually  at 
Kilkenny,  assemble  whatever  Ireland  still  retains  of  rank,  fashion, 
talent,  and  taste.  There  party  loses  its  asperity,  sect  its  dis- 
tinction, and  prejudice  its  bitterness.  By-laws  and  military  laws 
are  there  forgotten,  and  the  laws  of  this  amiable  institution,  like 
those  of  Nature,  are  governed  by  harmony  only. 

(12)  Page  282. — It  is  natural  that  the  natives  of  an  oppressed 

country  should  sympathize  with  the  oppressed  wherever  they 
exist.  Many  Irish  names  are  to  be  found  among  the  gallant 
advocates  of  liberty  in  South  America.  * 

(13)  Page  298. — Though  the  number  of  monks  and  nuns  now 
recited  is  by  no  means  to  be  depended  on,  yet  it  suggested  to 
their  presidents  the  necessity  of  stone  inclosures,  or  classes ; 
these,  in  the  East,  were  called  mandrae.  The  word  originally 
imported  a sheepfold,  and  was  applied  to  those  monastic  build- 
ings wherein  the  archimandrite  presided  over  his  disciples,  as 
he  shepherd  superintended  his  flock  in  the  fold.  There  are 
many  of  these  mandrae  dispersed  over  this  kingdom,  hitherto 
unnoticed. 

(14)  Page  314. — These  tiernas  were  what  Davis  calls  con- 
finnes,  canfinnes,  confinnie — “the  heads  of  clans.”  We  had  our 
Clanbreasil,  Clancarty,  Clanaboy,  Clancolman,  Clanfergal,  and 
many  more.  In  most  cases  the  tierna’s  surname  was  that  of  his 
clan. 

The  original  exactions  of  the  Irish  kings  were : 

Bonaht — a tax  for  the  maintenance  of  the  gallowglasses,  kerns, 
and  other  military. 


588 


NOTES  TO  FLORENCE  MACARTHY. 


Scrohen — a tax  on  freeholders  for  the  entertainment  of 
soldiers. 

Coshery — a custom  of  exacting  entertainment  for  the  king  and 
Ms  followers  from  those  under  his  jurisdiction. 

Cuddy,  or  suppers. 

Shragh  and  mart — imposed  at  the  will  of  the  lord,  and  levied 
partly  in  cattle  or  wood. 

(15)  Page  318. — Kilmallock,  in  the  county  of  Limerick,  a city 
of  conspicuous  figure  in  the  military  history  of  Ireland,  and  still 
exhibiting  one  of  the  most  curious  monuments  of  antiquity. 


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